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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519916">Fallen to Dust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extra_Pickles/pseuds/KittyNomsDePlume'>KittyNomsDePlume (Extra_Pickles)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Solas and Sulahnean Lavellan [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fade Tongue, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Alternating, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Smutty Art, Spoilers, The Fade, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 05:14:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>101,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extra_Pickles/pseuds/KittyNomsDePlume</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Corypheus has fallen, but there is no joy in victory for Inquisitor Sulahnean Lavellan. Solas and Cole have abandoned her without explanation. When the Inquisitor herself disappears, it will prompt a horrifying revelation for the inhabitants of Skyhold. How much heart-ache can a hero take?</p><p>Meanwhile, Solas faces a struggle of his own. Having developed feelings for the people of this veiled world, he must now find a way to reconcile this new-found respect, with his desire to restore the world of the elves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Solas and Sulahnean Lavellan [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Past is Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Even with the endless discoveries to be made in the Fade, Solas grows weary. Life is dull when it is full of predictable, petty people.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wisdom ambles - like an amorphous, cerulean beacon - through the dreams of mortals. A reflection of the world’s knowledge, the spirit seeks to pass on the ages of wisdom it possesses. Like a menacing whisper, Solas watches, intangible amongst the Ether at the edge of dreams; appearing in the fantasies of these small-minded sleepers does not appeal to him.</p>
<p>The world has moved so far beyond him and there are few left in it that he felt any commonality or kinship with. In ages past he had found conversing - ofttimes toying - with mortals an amusing diversion, but lately finds himself weary of their mundane, predictable behaviour.</p>
<p>“Taking on a partner now will help your business expand,” Wisdom whispers to a merchant from Denerim. “Your Uncle lies to you,” she issues as a warning for a minor noble in Nevarra.</p>
<p>Occasionally, a mage of some skill calls out to Wisdom and the spirit answers eagerly. She is a repository of ancient and obscure magic, lost to the passage of time; buried like the ruins of empires that had first uncovered such secrets. These self-styled masters of the arcane are unfailingly petty and short-sighted, seeking only to lord power over their peers for prestige and wealth - they do not grasp Wisdom’s true potential.</p>
<p>“They are beneath you, Lethallin,” Solas grumbles. “Come away with me. Let us walk the paths of forgotten places as we once did.”</p>
<p>“Wisdom is to be shared, not kept for you alone,” she chides. “A seed planted in fertile ground might grow into something beautiful. There was a time when you understood that.” Solas bridles at her words; <em>he</em> did not spitefully withhold his knowledge. Deceiver; outcast; madman he was called by those that feared and despised him. He had freely offered his discoveries, it is the world that had spurned and slandered him.</p>
<p>“It is not I that has changed,” Solas protests, though even to his own ears the words ring false and leave a foul taste in his mouth.</p>
<p>“Indeed, you have <em>always</em> been intractable,” Wisdom retorts. Solas falls silent then, brooding with disdain as his friend’s precious gifts are squandered. They are drawn into a darkening dreamscape and Solas clings tight to Wisdom, intent on protecting the gentle spirit.</p>
<p>“A Harrowing,” Wisdom remarks and Solas recalls the first time he witnessed this barbaric ritual. It made his blood boil to see these young mages forced into the Fade; minds reeling with such terror as they are made to face spirits corrupted by the summoning and often their own ignorant assumptions. It was so typical of mortals to lash out in fear of magic and spirits, not caring who they hurt in their attempts to feel safe from powers beyond their comprehension. A trembling young elf materialises, his eyes darting around the mire of his own consciousness.</p>
<p>“Don’t approach him,” Solas bars Wisdom from moving closer. “Can’t you smell the fear on him? He could hurt you.” Other spirits are drawn to the dreamer, some of them taking on the shape of his memories and desires. Solas tries to pull Wisdom away, he does not want to stay and witness the inevitable violence. For Harrowing’s <em>always</em> ended in pain and violence; whether it would be the mage or the denizens of the Fade that suffered was the only variable.</p>
<p>A vicious screech reverberates through Solas’ skull as a dark mass rises near the mage. The elf’s terror is so intense it has summoned a demon of Fear, the creature drawn to the mage like a lodestone. Bony spines lash toward the mage and he falls back, barely having the wits to defend himself. A fireball surges toward the demon and it swats the conjuring away like an insect.</p>
<p>“The Templars are going to kill you <em>boy.</em>” Fear hisses, its voice the embodiment of night terrors - icy sweat, racing heart and primal horror. “They knew it before they even sent you here. Because you are weak.”</p>
<p>“Stay away from me!” The mage shrieks as he scrambles away from the demon.</p>
<p>“That’s right, run away like you always do. Cowardly little Eannen,” Fear mocks. “Too afraid to be First, too afraid to defend the Clan. No wonder they were ashamed of you.” Eannen attempts to summon another fireball but it fizzles out before it even comes close to Fear. “But you wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore, with <em>me,</em>” the demon whispers suggestively. “I could show them how strong you really are. Make <em>them</em> afraid for once!”</p>
<p>“He didn’t stand a chance,” Solas remarks indifferently and Wisdom watches silently as Fear corners the mage. There is a flash of silver and the demon rears back snarling, as an elfin figure paces around Fear, Dar’Misaan held steadily toward the towering spectre. Long legs bound in leather, she anchors her feet in the ground between the mage and the monster.The mage, Eannen, gawks at her in awe, relief flooding his tear streaked face. Fear slithers back and forth as it measures up this unexpected rival, seeking an opening, a weakness to exploit.</p>
<p>“You have no power over me,” she says coolly, raven hair cascading over lithe shoulders. Solas laughs lightly at her boldness, he is not often surprised by events in the Fade. Fear roars in frustration and lunges at her. Her blade flashes like quicksilver and shreds the demon, banishing its essence to the Void. She scrutinises the other spirits that have gathered close around the mage. Determining that they are no threat, she sheathes her sword and turns to regard Eannen.</p>
<p>“You’re Dalish!” the mage exclaims, noting the Vallaslin etched over her elegant features; the delicate lines of Mythal’s mark branching across her forehead and cheeks like a silver, filigree mask. “Hahren told us legends of the Creators but I never believed them. Are you the Mother, will you help me find justice?” Solas owns that she is striking, like a figure of myth carved in alabaster: but she is no Mythal.</p>
<p>“Is she a spirit?” Solas wonders aloud, though she is unlike any spirit he has encountered.</p>
<p>“I do not know,” is Wisdom’s pensive reply. If she is a Dreamer she is an anomaly. In his experience, their ilk are not inclined toward kindly interference; not since the days before the Tevinter Imperium in any case.</p>
<p>“I am no God.” The Dalish elf clarifies to Eannen and Solas can understand the mages’ confusion. Compared to elves of the modern age she must appear divine, as she towers imperiously over Eannen’s feeble frame. It has been many millennia since he has encountered a true Elvhen in the Fade - a devotee of Mythal no less - that was not one of his followers. While at first glance that is what she appears to be, something about her is dubious; like a child play pretending to be an Empress. The sublime not-goddess turns to take her leave.</p>
<p>“Wait! Don’t leave me here alone,” Eannen begs and she peers down her sharp nose at him.</p>
<p>“You can do this, Eannen. You <em>can</em> be strong.” There is a hint of tenderness beneath her earnest declaration.</p>
<p>“Is this a trick?” Eannen scowls. “You want to possess me too?” She shows no anger at his accusation; only a sparkle of amusement in her light brown eyes.</p>
<p>“I desire nothing from you,” she states and Eannen winces at her bluntness. “Heed me da’len, the only demons you will find in the Fade are the ones you bring with you. It is <em>your</em> fears and desires that grant them power.”</p>
<p>“I wish I was back in the forest, that I had never run away,” he confesses with a sob. “I’m so sorry.” His words seem to touch her and she bends down to grasp his forearm.</p>
<p>“What’s done is done. You can wallow in regret or you can grow from it.” Her words pierce Solas; regret has been his steadfast companion these many long years. “You have a second chance in the Circle. Become a Keeper for your new family.” Eannen nods, accepting her counsel as she helps him to his feet. “Dareth shiral, Eannen.”</p>
<p>A shimmering arch opens near them and she disappears over the threshold. Before he even knows what he is about, Solas races toward the doorway. He catches himself at the last minute and turns, looking back to where Wisdom floats.</p>
<p>“Come with me, Lethallin,” he urges but Wisdom shakes her head.</p>
<p>“If I go with her I will forget myself,” she declares and adds ominously, “as will you.” Solas looks back and forth between Wisdom and the door as it rapidly fades. He feels torn between his dear friend and this strange creature; something familiar in her spirit calls to him. As the portal nearly winks out of existence instinct drives him through, causing him to abandon Wisdom.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Da’len - little one<br/>Dareth shiral - farewell/safe journey<br/>Dar’Misaan - Elven style longsword<br/>Lethallin - a close friend<br/>Vallaslin - blood writing/tattoo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Heart That Is Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lani prepares to celebrate the Inquisition's victory over Corypheus, but her heart is not in it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sulahnean mounts the steps leading up to the Great Hall. Her back is buffeted by the cheers and applause of the Inquisition, their jubilant voices echoing across the parapets of Skyhold. She wants to share in their merriment, but Leliana’s words make her heart sink.</p><p>“My agents have found no trace of Solas. He has simply vanished.” Lani’s mind wanders to those final, desperate moments against Corypheus. When the dust settled, a sliver of hope sparked inside her. With her duty done, Solas could no longer claim he was a distraction and there was a chance then to explore this bond between them; for she knew he was inexorably drawn to her, as she was to him.</p><p>Kneeling in the rubble, the broken Orb crumbling in his hands, is where she had found him. Lani had wanted to run to him; to take the frustrating, proud - irresistible - fool in her arms.</p><p>
  <em>They were alive!</em>
</p><p>When he turned to her, that elation burst and she wished instead that she had fallen to Corypheus’ wrath. Any other fate was kinder than seeing the regret he felt - the unbearable pity for her writ clear on his face.</p><p>"<em>I want you to know, what we had was real.” </em>She hadn’t known at the time that they would be his parting words to her. They offer her little comfort and do not lessen the emptiness inside her. Leliana draws her back to the present.</p><p>“You said he was upset. About the orb?” The tentative query implies the Spymaster knows more about their aborted relationship than Lani had shared. But of course, Leliana always knows more than what people want to reveal. She brushes off the gentle probe with a shake of her head.</p><p>“There is something more to it,” is her rueful answer and Leliana frowns. Lani discretely plucks at her robes where they wretchedly glom to her skin, making it prickle and itch. The ride from the ruined temple was long and she is covered in not only the dirt of the road, but the muck of battle preceding it. When they marched with purpose it was tolerable, but now that they are home - safe - every minute trapped in clinging filth feels like an eternity. “I haven’t seen Cole either, I’m worried about him.”</p><p>“Worried he might be working with Solas?” Leliana seems genuinely surprised by the idea. “He has always been capricious. I’m sure he will turn up.” Lani nods, her advisor is surely a better judge of character than she.</p><p>The Great Hall is a flurry of activity as attendants prepare the space for the banquet. A party is the last thing she wants to attend after, well - <em>everything.</em> Like so many things in her life of late however, it is out of her hands.</p><p><em>Always the next crisis</em>, she sighs wearily, feeling exhausted deep in her bones. Her absence from this affair would certainly be a crisis to some. Of the political variety; a welcome change of pace from the usual looming, existential oblivion. <em>The first being a greater affront to our Orlesian guests no doubt,</em> she muses wryly as she watches servants bustle past carrying large trestle tables, chairs and serving ware. They laugh and chatter as they set to their tasks, the most easy and carefree Lani has seen them since they first settled at Skyhold. She and Leliana draw off to the side of the Hall to give them room, barely able to hear each other over the din they raise.</p><p>“…every noble in Southern Thedas is clamouring to meet you!”</p><p>“<em>Now</em> they’re lining up to see me,” Lani barks sardonically.</p><p>“Enjoy the evening while you can, <em>Inquisitor</em>,” Leliana teases and melts into the crowd. Lani feels the relief she has gained in victory fading just as rapidly. She skirts the edge of the Hall, weaving past furniture and servants lighting the braziers and chandeliers. The orange flames bolster the waning sunlight that filters through the great arched windows looming behind her throne.</p><p><em>When exactly did it become my throne, I wonder and not the Inquisition’s? </em>She feels uneasy at how comfortable she has become with accepting the mantle - and power - of the Inquisitor. </p><p>
  <b>BANG!</b>
</p><p>Lani spins around, adrenaline coursing through her as magic tingles on her fingertips. The servants have dropped a heavy wooden bench. As they right it, one of them notices her startled, defensive stance.He freezes, bobbing his head contritely. His companion turns then, eyes widening in alarm.</p><p>“Oh, apologies your Worship!”</p><p>“It’s alright, please carry on.” Her tone is gracious even as her heart hammers against her ribs. She turns away and can hear their nervous laughter, relieved at having escaped reproach. </p><p>“Lady Lavellan! A moment if you will?”</p><p>“Madam Ambassador,” Lani pauses to greet Josephine who - arms laden with her familiar pen and papers - scurries toward her.</p><p>“A few details about the celebration before you go.” Josephine stutters breathlessly. Lani halts her before the Ambassador can continue.</p><p>“Josephine, I trust you implicitly regarding any decisions for the banquet.” Hand over her heart, Lani bows sincerely.</p><p>“Of course, Inquisitor. Ah! There are also,” Josephine adds hastily as she makes to leave, “some missives that require your attention. Requests for aid and consultation with the Herald, from several members of the nobility, et cetera.”</p><p>“Already?” Corypheus was barely cold in the ground and they were already clamouring for favour with her.</p><p>“Good news travels fast,” Josephine offers by way of apology.</p><p>“Bad news even faster,” Lani quips in return and sighs, her fingers massaging her temple. “Can’t any of this wait until tomorrow?”</p><p>“I…” Josephine winces in sympathy, “… suppose there is nothing <em>urgent,</em>” she allows. “Some of these petitioners will be at the celebration however. I thought it might help to be prepared.”</p><p>“Understood, I will do my best to be,” she pushes the word out through gritted teeth, “<em>diplomatic</em>.”</p><p>“You have certainly proven yourself to be capable of navigating the subtler intricacies of the Game. I will leave you to it then.” With a curt nod Josephine bustles away to see to the last details of the celebration. Before she can be further waylaid, Lani dashes through the door leading up to her private chambers.</p><p>Wearily she climbs the stairs to her room and takes a moment to bask in the <em>glorious</em> silence and stillness that greets her. She struggles out of her filthy boots and feels a pang of guilt as she arranges them on the landing for some other poor soul to clean. The polished stone floor is cool beneath her bare, aching feet and a soft moan escapes her lips. She locks her fingers behind her neck, taking a deep breath of the crisp alpine air that sweeps in through the balcony doors. As she exhales she relaxes her torso and rolls her shoulders, trying to shrug off the tension she has been carrying all day.</p><p><em>All year more like,</em> she scoffs, <em>and then some</em>. Ever since the moment she awoke to pain coursing down her arm, chained in a dingy cell below Haven. It wasn’t the first time her life had veered off the course she believed she was destined to take, but it was certainly the most dramatic. Being the Inquisitor endlessly tested her capabilities, often pushing beyond what she considered to be the limit of them. <em>Yet I’m still standing, </em>she marvels<em>.</em></p><p>Blessedly someone has thought to draw her a bath and she closes the doors against the creeping chill of evening. Shucking off her battle robes, she ignores the scalding heat as she sinks rapidly into the water. She soaps and scrubs grime and demon ichor from her skin, until it glows pink in the candlelight. Her hair suffers the same vigorous treatment. It has grown beyond the top of her shoulders, but it is not so unkempt as to bother any of the busy staff for a trim this evening.</p><p>Though she is enveloped by the warm water, she feels cold in her core, with a sense that something dreadful is looming. She raises her left hand from the water and turns it palm up in contemplation. The Anchor remains, as real and frightening as it has always been. With the Orb destroyed she had hoped -futilely it seems - that the Anchor too might fade. She is permanently marked then, physically and emotionally by her struggle against Corypheus. The mage shivers despite the heat, goosebumps peppering her skin as she hauls herself from the bath.</p><p>As she towels dry she rifles through her wardrobe, searching for something to wear to the banquet. Her fingers caress her favourite robe, a soft brushed cotton the colour of ferns; a little worn and patched in places. She recalls the wrinkle of distaste Vivienne’s nose made the first time the Enchanter saw her scampering through the gardens in it. She holds a sleeve up to her face, brushing the soft fabric against her cheek. The scent of Lotus and Elfroot clings to it still and she takes a long inhale of the soothing odours. As much as she desires to bury herself in its comforting folds, she knows she represents the Inquisition tonight; that means her clothes are under scrutiny. Her subordinates can let loose, but alas, she is still the Inquisitor.</p><p>“<em>Posturing is necessary.” </em>Solas’ words come unbidden to her mind and she winces.</p><p>“At least they aren’t demanding formal attire,” she muses aloud, hoping to chase away the memory of her errant lover.</p><p>She fails.</p><p>Her thoughts turn to long hours in the Rotunda, curled silently with a book in her lap, pages unturned as she watched him paint instead. She can hear the confident sweep of his brush over the walls, the rattle of it in the pots of paint; a crimson stain absently smeared on his pale, sculpted cheek.</p><p>Watching him create was more than just observing a painting taking form - <em>he</em> was the work of art. It had taken her some time to assuage the guilt she felt due to her attraction to him. Lani had been raised to believe in the importance of lineage; in maintaining the purity of the Dalish bloodlines. In her former life - before the Veil had been rent - it was an absolute that she would one day be bonded to a worthy <em>Dalish</em> partner, which Solas assuredly was not. But how could anyone look at him - <em>know</em> him - and still think him unworthy?</p><p>The trials of the world melted away as she lost herself in the languid movement of his arms, the taut pull of his tunic across his defined shoulders. The shift of his gait, weight passing from one long leg to the other as he bent down or stretched high. It was enough to be in his quiet company, thrilled at the occasional glance he sent in her direction; the knowing little smile on his lips as she would hurriedly turn her eyes back to her forgotten tome.</p><p>Lani considers reopening the balcony doors because suddenly she feels unbearably hot. She expels a long breath in frustration as she turns back to the matter of her attire. Briefly she entertains the rebellious little voice that urges her to wear her threadbare robe. To tease her hair into a wild mess, adorn it with twigs and leaves and waltz into the banquet barefoot. Scandalise them with her overt Dalish-ness - or rather their misconception of it. The thought of Josephine and Leliana’s disappointment puts an end to such notions.</p><p><em>Dorian and Sera on the other hand - No</em>, she shakes her head. In the end she pulls on a pair of breeches, a jerkin of deepest azure and hunts for her spare shoes. The Cobbler’s boy seems wilfully incapable of leaving her shoes in a single, designated spot. Eventually she finds them, carelessly tossed under her bed and she feels decidedly less guilty about the filthy state of her boots. She takes a moment to preen in front of the mirror, amber eyes scanning for faults. The face that peers back - devoid now of Vallaslin<em> -</em> seems like that of a stranger. It makes her insides lurch with feelings she can’t put words to and she retreats hastily.</p><p>Lani snatches up her Halla-horn comb and kneels before the fireplace to smooth the tangles from her auburn hair. The gentle scrape of the comb across her scalp elicits tingles at the base of her skull. She relaxes and loses herself in the sight and sound of the crackling fire. It evokes memories of evenings spent with her Clan in the rambling wilds of the Free Marches;shared meals, easy laughter and camaraderie. Lani had spent her youth learning to be a Hunter, just like her parents and grandparents. Then her magic had manifested; wild, unexpected and unwanted - at least by her.</p><p>“<em>Providence</em>,” Keeper Istimaethoriel had said. Her former apprentice, Faron - a sincere lad from the Ghilain clan - had been murdered in a Templar raid that past winter. Sulahnean became First to the Keeper and her nights were no longer carefree; spent instead at the Keeper’s feet, studiously learning magic and the responsibilities of being a leader to her people. It had not been so long ago, yet those nights seem a distant memory now, hazy and indistinct; as though caught beneath a fogged spyglass.</p><p>In times since she has shared many campfires with her new family, the Inquisition. Some of her companions becoming as dear to her now as her Clan ever was. She recalls warm nights spent nestled next to Solas, her tentative hand reaching for his and her heart fluttering as he welcomed her touch. He pressed his shoulder closer to hers and they twined their fingers together, while they traded stories about the constellations that twinkled overhead. The soft curve of his mouth held her enraptured as he spoke and his voice washed over her in a caress as thrilling as his touch.</p><p>“<em>You carry Clan Lavellan with you,”</em> Lani brushes away the tear that falls unbidden down her cheek. Her Clan was nothing but ashes and dust now and Solas was a ghost on the wind. Why are all these memories bubbling to the forefront of her mind, on the eve of her victory celebration?</p><p>She stands up, clenching her hands until nails bite into her palms. Squaring her shoulders she strides down the steps from her quarters. As she approaches the Great Hall the savoury aroma of food teases her senses. It elicits an eager grumble from her stomach and she pats it, as if soothing a restless animal.</p><p>
  <em>One thing to look forward to at least.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Kindred Spirits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Solas approaches the Dalish Huntress in the Fade, but she does not like the look of him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She stalks the labyrinthine pathways between dreams, single-minded and stoic in her purpose. Spirits drift past, giving her no notice when there are so many bright, noisy emotions spilling from the minds of dreamers. Around her swirl moments of joy and hope; reunions with lost loved-ones; forgotten ambitions finally fulfilled. None of these hold any interest for her. She is drawn along an eddy of fear and sorrow, as it twists slow and silent at the edge of these happy dreams. Inevitably they crawl from the shadows - twisted Fearlings - hoping to invade the minds of mortals.</p><p>She does not recall encountering these creatures before, yet she feels a visceral enmity toward them; unwittingly seeking them out and compelled to put an end to them. The first of them wails, dissolving under her blade before they even know she is upon them. They swarm angrily and she drives them back, feinting and dodging with ease as she pierces several more of the fiends with her Dar’Misaan<em>.</em></p><p>There is a cold tingle in the back of her skull as they probe, grasping for some dread they can latch on to; their only defence against her. Their smoky forms shift and sputter as they try to find a shape that will strike terror in her heart. Icy tendrils withdraw from her mind and they issue a collective shriek of frustration; they can find nothing. Inky and nebulous they flee back to the realm of nightmares. Her blade glides back into its scabbard and she continues her stroll; serene as a lazy summer’s day.</p><p>A figure appears on the path ahead; confident of stance, easily as tall as herself and dignified in his bearing. His presence evokes a sense of affinity, though she does not recognise him. It is instinctual, like her feelings toward the Fearlings and she wonders if it is because he is an elf like her.</p><p><em>An elf?</em> She starts in realisation as she runs her fingers over one of her long, tapered ears. He wears a finely woven robe; intricately crafted without being ostentatious. It’s the sort of thing one might fall asleep in, so she decides to leave him to his merry dreams. As she draws close to move past him she hesitates, for his grey eyes settle on her with an intense, unnerving awareness. She adopts a casual stance, but deliberately - pointedly - rests her hand on the hilt of her blade.</p><p>“I mean you no harm,” he says, hands held up in a gesture of peace. “I simply wish to speak with another wanderer of the Fade.” He takes a step toward her and she smoothly shifts back, maintaining the distance between them. Her grip tightens on her sword and she catches the surreptitious flick of his eyes down and back to her face again. Immediately he stops trying to close in on her, clasping his hands behind his back.</p><p><em>Either a fool or a fiend</em>, she considers. The intent behind his gestures seem to convey that he is not a threat, but the fact that he is so clearly unafraid of her is actually quite unnerving. <em>He does not look remotely foolish.</em></p><p>“What do you claim to be?” she asks warily. Demons take on all manner of forms here, often choosing to be pleasing to the eye. Though his voice is lilting and sensuous, his features are more refined than attractive. But perhaps even this is a clever deception designed to make her relax her guard.</p><p>“An interesting question, I suppose you have encountered all manner of deceit here.” Her eyes narrow at his evasive response. She ponders the small divot above his right brow and supposes that demons might be sly enough to affect a blemish or two. “A discussion for another time perhaps,” he adds hastily, realising his error. “You may call me Solas and I am a Dreamer, like you.”</p><p>“A Dreamer?” her brow furrows. “There are many dreamers here. None have ever approached me of their own accord before.”</p><p>“I do not mean these oblivious sleepers,” he waves dismissively. “Or the children sent to suffer a Harrowing.”</p><p><em>Has he been following me? </em>Her shoulders tense, uneasy at being secretly observed<em>.</em></p><p>“I refer to those individuals that consciously walk the Beyond and bend it to their will.” Her eyes slide away from him as she studies their surroundings. She feels like she is looking at it - really <em>seeing</em> it - for the first time. His comments stir an unusual feeling within her; as though she is grasping at knowledge that lies just beyond her conscious mind. Until this moment she had not questioned where she was, or what she was doing; she had simply existed.</p><p><em>How long have I been here?</em> <em>How did I get here?</em> She glances down at her own body, taking in the padded jacket and leather bracers. Lost in contemplation she absently brushes fingers over the fur and leather shoulder guard that drapes over her torso. The garb of a fighter, a Hunter. <em>Did I choose this form, this role?</em></p><p>She realises that the concept of choosing a form makes her uneasy; that there is something <em>unnatural</em> about people and places changing shape at will<em>. </em>She also decides she does not appreciate the way he is peering at her, nor the haughty tilt of his chin and she considers drawing her blade.</p><p><em>Just to knock the conceit off his face. </em>She maintains a bland expression, as internally she puzzles over this unexpected resentment she feels toward him. <em>Curious, do I not like other elves?</em> But then she recalls Eannen, she did not feel this way about him.</p><p><em>Eannen was not dangerous. </em>That much was true, but if she thinks this elf is dangerous why then is she resentful and not more combative, or angry or perhaps -</p><p><em>Nervous</em>, she identifies the emotion just as her stomach flip-flops; the air in her lungs suddenly tremulous.</p><p>“What may I call you?” Solas asks politely, breaking the interminable silence.</p><p>“I…” she blinks and cocks her head to the side. He fights to suppress a laugh at her sudden, bewildered expression. Again that sensation of something being just beyond her reach, on the tip of her tongue. “… do not know,” she confesses at length.</p><p>“I’ve never met a Dreamer, or spirit for that matter, that did not know its own name.” Solas is studying her with gleeful curiosity, like a child with a new riddle to solve. “You are certainly not an El-” he clears his throat, seemingly reigning in his excitement - or is it disappointment?</p><p><em>Perhaps both, </em>she muses.</p><p>“That is, you do not seem to be a demon at the very least,” Solas adds.</p><p>“Neither do you,” she allows and slowly relinquishes the grip on her sword as curiosity overrides caution. She finds her mind bursting with questions she has never thought to ask before. As though she has been trapped in a mindless slumber and is now awakening.</p><p>“Aneth ara.” Solas gives a courtly bow. “I took you to be a Dreamer of the Dalish, is that not the case?” he gently probes.</p><p>“Dalish? A mage called me that once too. It seemed familiar and the words felt… <em>right, </em>when I spoke to him.” She brushes past him and continues along the path; eyes fixed on the middle distance as she ponders this elusive feeling within. Solas falls into step beside her and that strange, nervous fluttering clamours in her chest. She suspects he truly does not mean her harm though and if he does, she will be sure to make him regret it.</p><p>“May I walk with you awhile?” he asks and she nods absently. They walk in silence a ways, both of them deep in thought. In spite of the earlier tension it feels comfortable, almost familiar to stroll side by side.</p><p><em>It feels</em> <em>right,</em> she thinks, echoing her earlier revelation and she gives Solas a sidelong glance. She has detected no duplicity in his expression; excepting the fact that it reflects an ancient grief that belies his apparent physical age. The sadness she senses in him makes her heart ache in a way that surprises and confounds her. A Dreamer he had called himself and she wonders what exactly that means.</p><p>“Do you know much about this place?” she asks him and he nearly stumbles in his surprise at hearing her speak.</p><p>“This place, the Fade?” Solas makes a gesture with his hand, as though encompassing the entirety of it. She nods and he smiles eagerly, “Well… Where does one begin?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Aneth ara - a friendly Dalish greeting<br/>Dar’Misaan - Elven style longsword</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Beats Still Unceasing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The celebration is in full swing and dutiful as ever, Lani commits fully to her role as the Inquisitor; despite her own inner turmoil.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A band of players belt out a jaunty tune as Lani steps onto the dais of the Throne Room. The revellers turn as one and raise their drinks to her, shouting and cheering as she greets them with a gracious smile. She has closed countless rifts - swarming with terrors from the Fade - but even they did not fill her with the same dread as this room of reeking peacocks. As she sweeps out into the crowd, she feels the mask of the Inquisitor settle over with practised skill - suppressing Sulahnean and her gloomy thoughts.</p><p>The throng presses forward, surrounding her in seconds. She smiles and exchanges pleasantries, trying to not get trapped too long in a single conversation. Among those more persistent guests she dissembles and deflects with grace.</p><p>“We are so honoured by your presence,” she pleasantly soothes their egos. Or offers an apologetic, “So many people to greet, you understand.<em>”</em> The nobles hem and haw, caught off guard by her abrupt, yet civil and oh-so-reasonable remarks. For once the tyrannical rules of polite society work in her favour and they are forced to grant her a rigid bow and let her be on her way.</p><p>Her luck fizzles out when she runs into the dogged, old Duke Germain. Doubly so, because with every flourish of his hand he assails her with an appalling fish-like smell that reminds her too keenly of Winter. She hates the bitter cold and snow. Not because it is bleak and uncomfortable, but because - like fish - it stirs up feelings of being in constant peril.</p><p>When the snows fell and game became scarce, the clan had no choice but to move closer to human settlements, trading for supplies to see them through the often brutal season. Wycome and its surrounding settlements had little to trade - but fish.</p><p>Being near human villages always increased the risk of violent altercations. Whether it was simple human bigotry or running into Templars, forever looking to round up apostates. The clan would sacrifice their lives to protect the Keeper, but even if they acted in self-defence, Elven aggression toward humans would not be tolerated in any corner of Thedas. The onus was always on the Dalish to keep things from escalating and the clan would have no choice but to retreat, deep into the wilds.</p><p>Almost every meal then would be the salmon they had spent all of Autumn harvesting from the river; salting and drying to store for this exact scenario. Lani <em>hated</em> it; the texture, the smell, what it represented - prejudice, fear and danger. But she ate it without complaint, because that’s what it is to be Dalish - taking things that are hard to swallow. Ruined civilisations, slavery, trampled pride, violence - and revolting dried fish. Because all that mattered was survival; in a world where none would shed a tear if all Elves perished.</p><p>She appreciates the irony that she now calls this mountain fortress home and looks out every day on snow-capped peaks. Putting aside her own comfort has always been the job however; whether Hunter or First, she needed to be strong, to do whatever was required to protect her clan. Now she is the Inquisitor and the lives of <em>all</em> Thedans had become her responsibility.</p><p>So here she is, feeling trapped and still swallowing hard things; like repulsion, because Germain is still talking and he <em>still reeks</em>. Lani can feel embers flickering in her belly, awoken by the memories Germain has stirred. It wants to rage; to surge through her veins and unleash fiery death upon the crowd. The sensation brings her up short, she has not felt such seething anger since the day her magic first manifested. She has to get away from the Duke, so that she can bring her magic under control. Lani grinds her teeth, smiling and nodding as she slowly makes her escape; only to be cornered by another pompous piece of effluence.</p><p>Josephine brushes past her as she makes excruciating small-talk with Lord Valery, the youngest son of a minor Duchy. He is insufferable and conceited, but at least he does not trigger a murderous fury in her. Josephine gives her hand an encouraging squeeze, obviously pleased with how she has conducted herself this evening. The Ambassador acknowledges Valery with a curt nod and the young noble leers at her figure as it passes from view.</p><p>“Skyhold is not the barbaric ruin I had been led to believe, Inquisitor.” He deigns to turn his haughty gaze back to Lani and she groans inwardly. “Nor are you as I expected. You’re quite eloquent and charming considering your… uh…” he stammers, his mind catching up with his mouth.</p><p>“My?” A wolfish grin spreads across her face, eyes flashing dangerously.</p><p>“Ahem…” he turns red, his insufficient brain scrambling for a way to salvage his thoughtless remark. “Unorthodox upbringing.” Valery looks like he could wither and die beneath her ferocious glare. “Oh, I do believe I see Marquise Lysette, ifyou’scuseme,” he splutters hastily then tucks tail and flees. Lani has the good sense not to laugh out loud at his back.</p><p>The crowd thins, the free-flowing drinks robbing many of her would-be courters of their tenacity. Not for the first time, she attempts to weave her way toward the trestles laden with all manner of exotic delights.</p><p>“Enjoying the refreshments?” Lani jumps at the sound of someone so close behind her, but gives an exaggerated sigh of relief as Leliana nudges against her elbow. “Josephine sent all the way to the Capital for the Petit Fours.” Lani follows Leliana’s finger and freezes as she takes in the assorted sweets.</p><p><em>“I enjoy the frilly cakes.” </em>She squeezes her eyes shut against the memory of the mortally reticent Solas admitting he secretly enjoyed a bit of whimsy. <em>What is wrong with me tonight? </em>She feels uncharacteristically moody; boredom was to be expected, but not this grief, threaded through with resentment and regret.</p><p><b>"</b>I would avoid the dark ones topped with gold dust, Deep Mushroom and Anise. I believe they call it, ‘The Exquisite Misery’<em>,</em>” Leliana titters, amused as always by the absurdity of Orlesian excess.</p><p><em>Sounds perfect,</em> she wants to respond, but her throat seizes tight and the words will not come.</p><p>“Sulahnean?” Her advisor’s voice is soft with concern. Lani knows her mask has slipped if Leliana is addressing her so informally in a public space. Over Leliana’s shoulder she spies yet another revolting Comte So-and-So, heading toward them with frightening alacrity. Lani juts her chin toward the Comte as explanation before scurrying away.</p><p>“Have you tried these cakes, my Lord?” Leliana’s lilting voice is grandiose as she intercepts the Comte.</p><p>“Well… I… The Herald…” he mumbles but Leliana snares him, an arm looping through his as she draws him to the treats.</p><p>“That’s right, these ones. With the <em>gold dust</em>.” Lani makes a mental note to find Leliana the perfect gift as gratitude for her selfless rescue.</p><p><em>The wrinkliest, baldest, most whiskery Nug in all Creation.</em> She thinks they are the ugliest critter, but Leliana finds them unfathomably delightful. Lani spots Cassandra casually lounging against the far wall. The Seeker smiles broadly as she spies Lani weaving toward her.</p><p>“How has your evening been, my friend?” Cassandra greets her warmly and chuckles as Lani backs into an alcove. She pulls Cassandra with her, using the larger woman’s frame to hide her from pursuers. “That well, I take it?”</p><p>“I believe I’ve done my duty.” Lani retorts, a little more snappish than intended. She peers around the side of Cassandra for any sign of stalkers.</p><p>“I should resent you, using me as a shield,” the Seeker’s voice drawls with mock indignation.</p><p>“Thought you would be used to it by now,” her pert reply draws a disgruntled noise from Cassandra.</p><p>“On the field of battle against demons and Templars is one thing. But to sacrifice me to these <em>snakes</em>? I am cut to the quick.” She knows the Seeker is only teasing, but Lani bows her head as though soundly chastised. She leans into Cassandra and the Seeker curls long arms around her. Lani tries to draw strength from the iron grip that encircles her.</p><p>“I have news from the sequester,” Cassandra murmurs quietly against the top of her head. Lani notes the small quiver of excitement in her voice. “I believe the Chantry intends to name me Divine, very soon.” Tears sting Lani’s eyes. “It would not have been possible without your support and friendship, it means a great deal to me.” She wants to be happy for Cassandra - truly - but that dreadful sinking feeling settles inside her again.</p><p>“I hope we’ll remain friends once you’re Divine,” Lani says evenly, pleased she can keep her voice so calm as her emotions roil on the inside. She cannot bear to look at Cassandra’s face, she doesn’t want to see the joy in her eyes. The Divine has her own demands and duties, even more so than the Inquisitor. How can they possibly have time for one another?</p><p>“That would please me greatly. I think back to how we first met…” Cassandra’s voice is lost below the pounding of Lani’s heartbeat. She draws in a shaky breath, blinking the tears from her eyes and wills herself to be centred and calm. “… And you are my friend. How did that happen, I wonder?” Lani laughs in spite of herself and pulls free of the comfort of Cassandra’s embrace.</p><p>“Probably because I didn’t <em>actually</em> believe you every time you threatened to kill me.” Cassandra grimaces in shame.</p><p>“Was I truly so hard on you? I’m sorry.” Cassandra looks so utterly deflated that Lani almost regrets her jest, taking her hand to give it a friendly squeeze.</p><p>“I’m joking Cassandra. You taught me the importance of sticking to my principles, no matter what.”</p><p>“You mean being <em>stubborn</em>, don’t you.” Cassandra states humourlessly.</p><p>“Yes.” Lani’s mouth twists as she tries to suppress a gleeful smile. Cassandra thumps her on the shoulder. <em>Owwww,</em> Lani mouths silently and makes a show of rubbing her injury. “You would <em>dare</em> strike the most holy-moly Herald?”</p><p>“You are such a blasphemous brat!” Cassandra exclaims with a laugh and then thumps her again.</p><p>“Ok, ok… <em>Fenedhis</em>.” Her shoulder is genuinely a bit sore now.</p><p>"Ugh, don’t use that word. Varric told me what it means. Disgusting.” Lani laughs easily, Cassandra always cheers her up. That thought stops her short and she becomes serious again.</p><p>“You are going to be a wonderful Divine, I am so happy for you and so very proud.” They both have tears in their eyes now and they sniffle and laugh, sharing another warm hug. “Now that I know you better, I realise I probably should have taken your threats more seriously.”</p><p>“Argh!” Cassandra groans in exasperation and gives her a playful shove this time. “I am going to bed!”</p><p>“Please do. Before you break all my delicate little bones.” Lani mewls. Cassandra snorts and Lani bids her goodnight before shrinking back into the shadowy alcove.</p><p>The band has played their last song and the evening seems to be winding down. Many of the Inquisition members have retired already. They'd hit the drinks with such furious abandon they had not the stamina to last the night. Cullen and his officers were among the departed and she is sad that she did not get a chance to talk with him. His troops had borne the brunt in the final push against Corypheus.</p><p>Cullen had much to celebrate, but also the most to mourn. She had wanted to let him know that she shared his grief; that unlike the Nobles she endured this evening, she did not think their lives disposable. The Commander would be busy in the days to come, writing to families to inform them they had lost a loved one. She wanted to help fulfil that duty with him, if he would let her.</p><p>Lani spies Josephine and Thom then, sharing a plate of cheese and charcuteries. With each shy smile or soft brush of a hand they inch closer to one another. Their heads incline together as Thom whispers something in Josie’s ear. The Ambassador blushes and Lani feels an ache in her chest watching the familiar motions of courtship.</p><p>“Are you enjoying the celebration, Lady Lavellan? Josephine was in a frenzy arranging it.” Vivienne’s supercilious voice snaps her out of her grief. The Enchanter sidles up beside her and following Lani’s gaze she sniffs in disdain. “Though now I quite find myself questioning her taste.” Lani bites the inside of her cheek to stifle an acerbic barb and turns to Vivienne with a strained smile. As the Inquisitor she has recognised the need to make alliances. As Lani however, she cannot stand the Imperial Enchanter. A small figure suddenly barges into Vivienne from behind, sending her stumbling away from the Inquisitor.</p><p>“S’cuse me, your <em>Majesty,</em>” Sera drawls mockingly as she drags Lani away from Vivienne. The Enchanter makes a noise of disgust but has no time to form a retort before the two elves are out of ear shot.</p><p>“<em>Vian,</em>” Lani mutters in crude Dalish.</p><p>“Think I actually like the sound of that elfy word,” Sera sniggers.</p><p>“You love it,” Lani smirks.</p><p>“Take a break, Quizzy.” Sera pushes her down onto a bench next to Varric and disappears again.Bull is sprawled on the opposite bench, knocking back drinks like they’re sweet-berry tea. Dorian whispers a salacious comment that makes the expansive mercenary Captain guffaw, then turns to greet her warmly.</p><p>“There you are, Birdie! You’ve made heroes of us all. I hope my father hears. He will shit his small clothes from shock, I swear.” The wine has made Dorian more effusive than ever.</p><p>“Finally deigned to join us, oh indomitable leader?” Lani winces at Varric’s choice of words and buries her head in her hands with a groan, elbows propped on the table.</p><p>“You know, Varric,” she utters at length, “I might just use my hard won influence to have you appointed to some utterly soul-crushing position in the Orlesian Court.” She fixes the Dwarf with an evil smirk as Sera returns and thrusts a cup of mead under Lani’s nose. Sera plonks down on her other side, caging Lani between her friends. “Then I will sit back and revel in your suffering as you are forced to <em>mingle </em>at events such as this.” Sera laughs at the look on Varric’s face and blows a raspberry at him.</p><p>“You are so scary sometimes, you know that, right?” He japes and she claps his shoulder by way of apology.</p><p>“Sorry Varric, I’m just so Void-taken tired.” She combs a hand through her hair. “Apparently, I also have a hundred new missives to read through tomorrow. So <em>there’s </em>a silver lining.” Varric sucks in sharply through his teeth.</p><p>“Ah, tell me about it,” he commiserates, “the work never ends.”</p><p>“The <em>problem</em> with your books, Varric,” he bristles, sensitive about his writing, “is you forget to mention all the cursed paperwork. Everyone thinks heroes are on this grand adventure, just having fun all the time with <em>no</em> obligations.” She pauses to take a sip of her drink, wishing the sweetness could wash away the bitterness that colours her words. “Andraste’s pyre was probably built out of reports and petitions. Bet she willingly threw herself on it, just to get away from it all.”</p><p>“Whoa now, you went to a dark place there, Lani.” The familiar sarcasm is absent from Varric’s voice and Lani takes another hasty gulp of her drink, his intense scrutiny making her nervous. Varric means well and she knows he genuinely cares, but she also doesn’t want to give him any more fodder for his books.</p><p>“Of course it’s no fun when you’re always wearing tight pants like that!” Sera scoffs. “Try no pants and see what happens, yeah?”</p><p>“I did consider coming down here bare-foot and dirty, with half the garden on my head,” she quips and the elf rogue snorts.</p><p>“You shoulda! Can you imagine?” Sera cackles, slapping her thigh with mirth. “Their.. their faces!” her voice squeaks she is so breathless with laughter.</p><p>“Speaking of faces…” Dorian turns away from Bull to address them. “I was passing through the Hall and a serving girl saw me and squealed. Actually squealed,” he clasps Bull’s ample bicep, shaking it earnestly. “Dropped her laundry and everything. Then she hugged me.” Dorian’s eyebrows rise, incredulous. “HUGGED. ME.”</p><p>“I can make <em>you</em> squeal and drop your laundry,” Iron Bull rasps aside to Dorian and the cocky mage smirks with delight.</p><p>“Only if you promise to <em>hug</em> me afterwards,” he returns with a seductive purr. Lani can’t help but giggle at their flirting, even as she worries for Dorian. She knows that under his callous veneer beats an earnest heart and Bull has quite the rakish reputation. It is not her business to question the nature of intimacy between consenting adults, but neither does she want to see her friend hurt.</p><p><em>Not that he would heed her warnings, </em>she grimaces<em>, I hadn’t listened to theirs either.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Fenedhis - a common elven curse, the intent of it being something like ‘shit’, or ‘dammit’, though the literal translation is closer to ‘wolf-cock’.<br/>Vian - literally wound or hole, but a term adopted by younger Dalish as slang for ‘cunt’.</p><p>A NOTE ON ELVISH</p><p>I’ve tried to utilise the language mostly as it appears canonically in game and for instances where I could not, have turned to the wonderful Elvhen language resource by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548">FenxShiral</a>. Language changes and adapts over time however and I’ve tried to reflect this through the adoption of slang terms by younger Dalish. </p><p>It makes me laugh to think about a bunch of Dalish kids getting together at an Arlathvan and these new interpretations spreading amongst them like school-yard rhymes. While the Dalish Elders grumble about ‘kids these days’, forgetting that their own interpretations of Elvish are also often incorrect.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Memories Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Solas shows his new companion some of his favourite memories in the Fade. She offers very little insight into herself, but he is determined to break through her cool reserve, by any means necessary.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas watches as she swirls through the misty remnants of long forgotten places. He doesn’t know how long they’ve ambled together through the Fade. Time holds little meaning here, but the effect seems amplified in her presence. It feels an eternity since he has craved the company of another Dreamer and even amongst his own people it had been rare for him to feel such acute kinship. Being with her, he now realises - even with spirits for company - how profoundly lonely he has been.</p><p><em>Did I manifest her? </em>he chews on the uncomfortable thought. He could almost believe his subconscious might build a mystery for him, a companion to alleviate his isolation and boredom. <em>But a Dalish elf? </em>he scoffs and the idea is swiftly dismissed.</p><p>With patience he has managed to coax her away from dreams and into some of his favourite memories within the Fade. Many of them can barely take shape any more. Long forgotten by mortals, the spirits that once haunted these places have moved on or returned to the Ether. If he concentrates he can form something - not an exact replica, but close - from his own memories.</p><p>“Where are we?” The mist hugs her body, as though it is trying to remember what it was like to be tangible.</p><p>“Mahn var lathin himemsa, durarsyl vunlea’elvarman.” As he speaks the Ether coils together, once again taking on shape and substance. “Ar nuvenin ithal na, in Arlathan.”</p><p>Trees sprout, tall and majestic, bordering curved avenues that branch out from the heart of the city. Ghostly figures of the Elvhen clamour along the streets, while shadows of spirits dart amongst them. Long extinct creatures of feather and fur, flit and scurry through the trees, their trilling voices never to be heard again in the waking world. She gasps in amazement as towering crystal spires rise up to brush the sky, where airy palaces glisten like stars.</p><p>“It’s glorious,” she whispers in awe, spinning eagerly as she tries to take it all in. To see it through her eyes, to share her joy, is akin to witnessing it for the first time. To know another can now imagine it - even in this muted form - eases the pain in his heart.</p><p>“Yes it was. In spite of the ugliness that ultimately grew from it.”</p><p>“What happened?” Her hands roam, examining the crystal that twines around the trees.</p><p>“The inevitable fate of all empires. Power corrupted them. They placed themselves above others, enslaving and abusing their own people.” Solas hesitates, bowing his head to hide his face from her. “It destroyed them.”</p><p>With these words the spires and castles come crashing down, raining destruction on the city below. She steps back against him - half in alarm and partly to shield him.He smiles inwardly; both pleased that she would shelter against him and amused that she thinks he needs protection. A slow warmth tingles through his chest however, at how readily she jumps to his defence; no-one has ever done so before.</p><p><em>I did not think she would show me something new as well.</em> Solas curves his arms around her as he wills the rubble to fall away from them. It skitters harmlessly along the pathways, like prismatic hail.</p><p>“The magic failed,” she states, soberly taking in the carnage.</p><p>“Yes,” he replies. She turns to him, wide-eyed and hungry.</p><p>“Tell me more. Show me.”</p><p>Her questions seem endless. With every answer he gives, two more arise, her desire for knowledge almost as insatiable as his own. Her initial reticence fades away as slowly she opens up to him; like a shyly blooming rose. Like his memories, she comes alive, developing a greater sense of her own identity through exploration and inquiry.</p><p>In this she seems more akin to a young spirit than a Dreamer, having no memory of self before she was birthed from the Ether. Yet she also inherently understands the nature of time and the immutability of the waking world - concepts that often eluded even the most ancient of spirits. She contradicts every assumption he has made about her true nature.</p><p><em>What a curious puzzle</em>, he muses as he studies her. Solas has brought her to a crumbling ruin overlooking the Dales. He had hoped to provoke a reaction from her, by bringing her to the ancestral home of the Dalish elves, swarming now with humans. She betrays no emotion however, as she perches on top of the ruin.</p><p>She is studying something in her hand and as it catches the light he realises she has kept a piece of shattered crystal from the memory of Arlathan. Solas wonders what compelled her to take it, surprised by how reverently she handles it; like a precious artefact. She tucks it away in the folds of her clothes, secret and safe.</p><p><em>Even her armour is a tale of contradictions</em>, Solas notes. Her bare-toed leather bindings are decidedly elven, as is her shoulder guard. But the sleeveless, quilted gambeson she wears is a style he has only seen on Chevaliers in Val Royeax and not at all like the rough-weave common amongst the Dalish.</p><p>The breastplate that protects her heart is clearly of human design too, but plain and functional; without the excessive decoration of even the most modest Orlesian armour. From his observations in the Fade, it was a matter of pride for the Dalish, to eschew the trappings of humans - holding particular enmity toward the Orlesians that destroyed their homeland in such recent memory.</p><p><em>Not Elvhen, yet not wholly Dalish. </em>Unless he was mistaken in his assumptions about the Dalish, or she was a rare exception. <em>Not entirely spirit or Dreamer either. </em>She relaxes against the ruin, sedately watching a flock of birds that twist and wheel above the grassy plains.</p><p>“How do you think they move like that?” She asks, pointing to the swarming mass of birds. “Without crashing into one another?” Solas watches the flock with an amused smile, he enjoys the random questions she throws at him.</p><p>“Observation and anticipation, I imagine.” He settles beside her on the weathered slab of stone and she shuffles nervously, conscious of his proximity. He is still unable to predict how she will react to him. Often she is relaxed, approaching him with an almost intimate familiarity. Other times she responds as now, unsettled and anxious; as though she does not entirely trust him.</p><p><em>She is wise perhaps, to be wary of me. </em>He wonders if it is born from a naturally cautious nature, or if she can actually sense that he is more than he appears to be.</p><p>“Hmmm, the changes are so fast though and there seems to be no discernible leader or even a pattern to it.” She muses, “I just don’t know how it’s possible.” Solas considers her for a moment and without warning, strikes out, aiming at the air in front of her nose. Her hand snaps up, catching his wrist before he even gets close to his intended target.</p><p>In the next moment she closes against him, grasping his shoulder and twisting to throw him onto the ground. She rolls with him and they land, her snarling visage filling his view as her forearm presses against his throat. Solas manages to choke out a laugh and she eases off slightly in confusion.</p><p>“You anticipated <em>that</em> quite successfully,” he remarks. Her mouth purses and she glares at him; hands heavy on his shoulders as she decides whether or not to release him. He realises he rather hopes, even as ferocious as she looks, that she might remain exactly as she is.</p><p>“I could have hurt you,” she scolds. It is interesting that she is more upset at the thought of doing harm, than suffering it.</p><p>“Unlikely.” He replies and she scoffs in the face of his perceived cockiness.</p><p>“What was that meant to illustrate?” She scuttles away from him and settles back on her perch with a sullen huff.</p><p>“That it is possible to anticipate the movement of others, as quickly as those birds do.” He sits up, casually resting an arm on his bent knee.</p><p>“You are only one person,” she protests. “I doubt very much I could counter two, let alone a hundred of you.”</p><p><em>You could not counter even one of me, unless I permit it. </em>Though his powers are not as potent as they once were, he doubts she could match him.<em> Best to keep that to myself, </em>he decides.</p><p>“That is an excellent point.” Solas allows instead. “Perhaps I did not choose the best demonstration.” His light-hearted confession seems to mitigate some of her annoyance. “What about dancers then, moving to music in unison, in a ballroom?” he proposes.</p><p>“I suppose it’s more alike,” she considers. “Being able to anticipate your partner and avoid crashing into other dancers. Except that birds can follow the flock from the moment they can fly. People must first learn the steps to a dance and there are those that can never manage it, no matter how much they practice.”</p><p>“You seem well-versed on the subject, do you dance?” Solas tries to ask with as much nonchalance as he can muster, attempting to sneak in a direct question before she realises it.</p><p>“I…” she stops short of answering and in what has become a familiar sight to him, her brow knits and her shoulders tense; curving forward slightly, as though pulling inside herself. She comfortably speaks with authority on a range of abstract topics, but often the moment he asks a direct question about herself, she withdraws.</p><p>“I would probably make a fumbling mess of it.” Her deflections have also become predictable and Solas sighs. It seems he must content himself with learning about her through observation; or else find a more subtle way of prying the truth out of her.</p><p>“I’m sure that isn’t true,” he replies, watching her intently. “Anyone that has seen you in battle, could not deny your grace.” Her ears twitch slightly and she shuffles again in her seat.</p><p>“An army,” she blurts out, redirecting the conversation. “They move in unison.”</p><p>“Yes, they are quite synchronised.” He wonders what she knows of armies and warfare. He knows he has not shown her any memories of war in their travels. “Until battle devolves into chaos that is.”</p><p>“Yes, but I mean as units and not individuals, in the grand scheme of things.” She seems excited by a sudden revelation as she presses her hand to her chin in thought. “It’s a matter of distance and perspective then.” Solas quirks an eyebrow as she looks back to the swirling birds.</p><p>“You said all empires fall, you’ve recognised a pattern within the flow of history. But when you are <em>within</em> the empire, you don’t see it. You might suffer from the decay and corruption but you don’t recognise that as being part of the inevitable decline.” Solas leans forward, intrigued by her train of thought.</p><p>“An individual might see their life as full of chaos and random chance, not seeing that every choice is shaped and influenced by the people and the world around them. With a greater perspective, with hindsight, perhaps there is always a pattern leading to a predictable outcome.</p><p>“For all we know, to the bird in the middle of that harmonious flock, it might seem like chaos too.” She shrugs dismissively, as if in doubt of everything she has just said.</p><p>“Where did you come from, ma era’lathain?” Solas murmurs, in awe of her unexpected depths. “Maera, may I call you that?” The tips of her ears turn pink.</p><p>“You flatter me… I am not…” She stumbles over her words, caught off guard. “Maera, yes… I like that.” She considers the name thoughtfully and when she notices that he is still watching her, a pink flush spreads across her cheeks too. “That is, it is as good a name as any, I suppose.” She adds brusquely and busies herself with tightening the clasps on her bracers. But he catches the furtive glances she makes through lowered lashes as she quietly studies him; it brings a surprising heat to his own ears.</p><p>A sudden impulse takes over him and he sweeps to his feet, approaching her. He suppresses a laugh at her expression - not unlike a startled rabbit - as he bows before her, offering her his hand.</p><p>“Voudriez-vous danser avec moi?” There is a curious moment where Maera hesitates, her eyes becoming unfocused and he feels that she is almost looking through him. It passes just as quickly and she makes no move to take his hand.</p><p>“Here? Now?” Maera blanches at the idea, but more importantly, she perfectly understood what he said in Orlesian.</p><p>"We could find a party I’m sure, if that’s what you’d prefer.”</p><p>“Perhaps… another time?” Maera asks, wincing apologetically.</p><p>“As you wish.” Solas inclines his head and straightens. He clasps his hands behind his back as he saunters away to look down at the plains below. Her rejection does not sting in the slightest, because he has managed to learn something new about her.</p><p>He looks over his shoulder, hearing her approach and she stops beside him - close, but with a conspicuous effort to keep a polite distance. Maera’s eyes roam over the Dales, deep in thought and he wishes he could see what she was thinking when she drew inside herself like this. But then, perhaps, that would be no fun at all.</p><p>
  <em>A most intriguing puzzle.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Ma era’lathain - My lovely dream</p><p>Voudriez-vous danser avec moi - Would you care to dance with me?</p><p>Mahn var lathin himemsa, <br/>Durarsyl vunlea’elvarman,  <br/>Ar nuvenin ithal na,       <br/>In Arlathan.       </p><p>Where our hearts became one,<br/>Beneath the sun-kissed spires,<br/>I long to see you again,<br/>In this place of love.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Bird Cries Out In Sorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The party begins to wind down as Lani drinks with her friends. Despite their welcome company, her psyche continues to unravel.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oi you, your mug is about to fall in your… mug.” Sera cackles, endlessly amused by her own nonsense. Lani had not thought she could ever become friends with the abrasive elf. However, like many people she met through the Inquisition, Sera had hidden depths. While Sera’s attitude toward other elves could be problematic, it had been a catalyst for Lani to rethink some of her own isolated views. Mostly though, she envied Sera’s ability to be honest and speak her own truths; even if it earned her the ire of others.</p><p>“It’s a celebration, you! We stuck it to Coryphenis - best job ever.” Lani smiles wanly and Sera grunts. “You’re not still mooning over old stick-up-the-arse are you?” Lani shakes her head, though she feels the sting of rejection still and gazes wistfully around the Hall.</p><p>“Looking for someone?” Varric is watching her again.</p><p>“I’m just worried about Cole,” she dissembles.</p><p>“Look…” he hesitates, “Sod it, I wasn’t going to say anything but… Back at the Valley, I caught sight of Solas as he was slinking off and the Kid was right on his heels.”</p><p>“Why would he go with Solas?” Lani asks.</p><p>“They always did seem to understand each other,” Dorian remarks. “Even when no-one else could.”</p><p>“I don’t understand any of you nonces,” Sera mumbles derisively.</p><p>“Vashedan!” Bull interjects, thumping his fist on the table; drinks nearly toppling over with the force of it. “At least I had the horns to tell you I intended to spy on you.” His words are like a dagger thrust into her gut.</p><p>“You think… what?” she can hear her voice getting high and tight, bothered by the implication of Bull’s words. Like Leliana, he had a knack for ferreting out people’s true motives. “They were working together, to get close to me?” Lani shrugs. “Why?”</p><p>“Let’s not get carried away.” Varric makes a placating gesture with his hands. "I’m not saying I know anything for certain. You should ask Nightingale. If anyone would know-”</p><p>“We spoke,” Lani cuts in, “she seemed surprised by the idea.”</p><p>“Well then, there you have it,” he says with finality. She casts her eyes down, finger worrying at a knot in the wooden table. Varric clears his throat, trying to steer the conversation away from the subject of Solas and Cole. “We really need to put together another game of Wicked Grace before I go. Curly needs to win back some of his dignity.”</p><p>“One hopes not!” Dorian protests.</p><p>“I heard lyrium makes it shrivel up,” Sera snickers, wiggling her pinky finger.</p><p>“I assure you that is not the case,” Dorian retorts as a matter of pride. “<em>Especially</em> where the Commander is concerned,” he adds with a leer. “You can count me in, Varric. That’s a sight I’ll happily view again.”</p><p>“You’re leaving?” Lani looks up, only just processing what Varric has said.</p><p>“It’s past time that I went back and took care of things in Kirkwall,” Varric replies apologetically.</p><p>“Oh, of course. It is your home after all.” Lani knows her face has fallen but she can no longer hide it. First Solas and Cole; now Cassandra and Varric were drifting away, who would be next? Three of them had been with her at the very beginning of it all and Varric - dear Varric - had been a fast friend from their very first meeting. Initially she had thought Solas might be a safe haven from the distrusting humans, but he had quickly disabused that notion. His disdain for the Dalish outmatched only by his self-assured superiority over <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>She can’t begrudge her friends for leaving. They had lives and homes to return to and deserve to carve out some happiness after everything they’d been through. But her former life had ended the moment she reached the Conclave. The Anchor crackles in the palm of her hand and she hides it in her lap.</p><p>“<em>Live well, da’len</em>.” The sounds and sights of the Hall fade away, as she curls inward. What sort of life awaited her? If tonight was any indication, there were many that sought to use her as a pawn in the Game. Perhaps not even that.</p><p>They had only needed her as the sky tore open. Their focus would turn now to picking up the pieces from the Mage Rebellion. Would they really want her - a knife-ear apostate - to maintain the power and influence she had accrued? She won’t sit quietly if the Chantry insists on reinstating draconian rites, such as the Harrowing and Tranquility to control mages. Or continues to condemn young Templars to a life of lyrium addiction. She trusts Cassandra to do what she can as Divine to bring about reform, but even she will have limitations. Lani does not relish a future full of political scheming. The Elder One had been a dangerous - yet blunt - adversary, blinded by his own arrogance. But at least she knew how to oppose him. Orlais and Tevinter will not provide her a clear enemy to strike at as Corypheus had.</p><p>“By the Stone, get a room already!” Varric’s exasperated outburst draws her from her reverie.</p><p>"I didn’t take you for such a <em>prude</em>, Varric,” Dorian slurs, “Not with all that chest-hair on display.”</p><p>“Just trying to exercise some ah… tact, in present company.” From the way Dorian and Bull’s eyes shift toward her, she assumes Varric is giving them a meaningful stare. Sera snorts, not catching the message.</p><p>“Pffft, those ears ain’t sanctified, Varric. As if those lovebirds didn’t do the grindy-bumpy, am I right?” Lani’s mouthful of mead spurts explosively out of her nose.</p><p>"Sera!” She exhorts in between choking coughs, her face burning up - along with her nostrils.</p><p>"Come oooon, ‘The Veil is thin here’,” Sera’s voice drops in a breathy imitation of Solas. “Got ya knickers soggy every time, I bet. Tell us all about his <em>elven glory </em>then. Cause you did, right?” Sera is studying her face, about as seriously as Sera can ever be. “No… he took your elfy-dealies but not your-”</p><p>“Sera! Can we not?” Lani avoids the questioning gaze of her friends, utterly mortified.</p><p>“Oooh, that’s what she said!” Sera teases and her eyes go wide. “Is that why he left? Cause you weren’t gonna make his smarmy little elf spawn?”</p><p>“We are <em>not</em> talking about this.” Lani grinds out angrily. Sera’s teasing borders on cruelty sometimes.</p><p>“Pbbbth, didn’t know arse-sticks were contagious, me,” Sera huffs. Dorian tuts at her, shaking his head and Sera throws two fingers up at him. Dorian shoots Lani a look that implies she’ll be hearing about this again at some later date.</p><p><em>Because of course they have to pry into her private business, like they have some claim on her. Why can’t they just leave well enough alone! </em>Lani can feel their eyes on her as she begins to spiral and she breathes out sharply. This chaos inside shocks and frightens her; this is not like her at all, to be so out of control.</p><p>Istimaethoriel had always surmised that was why Lani's magic came on so late, because she was so naturally unfazed by situations that bothered others. She hadn’t experienced the sort of early emotional upheaval that most other young mages did, that triggered their powers. It was not that Lani didn’t feel, it was more that she believed letting those emotions override sense and reason were of little help; especially in stressful situations. But now here she is, safe among friends and feeling so unhinged.</p><p>“I’m fine, it’s fine,” she reassures them as she dabs the remains of her drink off her chin. She prays they are all too drunk or obtuse to see how rigid her back is. “Don’t suspend your revelry on my account.”</p><p>“No-one would believe this,” Dorian crows. “The Lady Inquisitor losing her composure so dramatically!” She exhales in relief as he and Bull turn their attention back to one another.</p><p>“Hey now, Lani,” Varric murmurs for her ears alone, a gentle hand pressing against the small of her back. “Have you eaten at all?” He pushes a plate of food in front of her and her mouth waters in anticipation. But when the smell of the smoked meat hits her nose, bile catches in her throat.</p><p>Screams and the clash of swords echo in her ears. She nearly springs from her seat as she scans the Great Hall, nostrils flaring and pupils blown. There are no undead invaders, only the shouts of the party-goers. Yet she can smell the pits of burning bodies. Her skin crawls, as though she is there on the ramparts, where the Veil is but a whisper. Dirthavaren, a place steeped in violence, where her ancestors had made their last stand against the Chantry - had become a hellscape. Demons roamed freely, taking possession of corpses that lay thick on the ground. A wave of nausea sweeps over her and now she does leap up from her seat.</p><p>“Excuse me,” she utters hastily as she walks around the table. It takes all her will power to move at a calm, controlled pace.</p><p>“And where are you off to, my little woodland sprite?” Dorian calls after her. “No doubt to dance naked in the moonlight, in carnal benediction to the Gods of old,” he adds gleefully.</p><p>“I’m ready for you to dance naked on my-”</p><p>“Ugh, no!” Bull’s remark is drowned under Varric’s protest and Sera’s cackle of delight.</p><p>“Oh very well,” Dorian acquiesces. “Don’t look for me in the morning friends, for I shall be - All. Tied. Up.” Bull chases Dorian from the hall with a roar of laughter.</p><p>“Oi wait, I want to watch this!” Sera cries after them.</p><p>Lani closes the door against the sounds of their merriment, sprinting toward her chambers like a hounded hare. Skittering across the floor, she heaves the contents of her stomach - little as it is - into the chamber pot. Trembling violently, her skin prickles all over with heat. The air in the room is oppressive and she cannot breathe.</p><p>She flings open the doors to the balcony, frozen air blasting over her. The relief is fleeting for in the next moment the mountain is ablaze with torches.A Red Templar army descends upon them, as a blighted dragon roars overhead. She falls hard on the stone, disoriented by memories that are as fresh and raw now as the day they occurred. The Anchor explodes with searing pain, the power of it swirling around, engulfing her.</p><p>“<em>Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus. You will kneel</em>.” Lani feels the breath of the dragon on her neck, Corypheus’ ghoulish hands grasping at her. Then the mountain falls on her and she is lost, blind in a blizzard. It bites at her hands and face as she trudges forward in the dark, wanting only to lie down and sleep for eternity.</p><p>“<em>Inquisitor, it has been an honour</em>.” Warden Stroud haunts her, who is she to make these choices? Who lives and who dies? She had sworn to honour his sacrifice, to give his death - to give all their deaths - greater purpose. Grey Wardens, Seekers, Red Templars - their faces flash before her. Poor souls betrayed and abused by leaders that they trusted without question. Was she any better? Corypheus had to be stopped, but there was so much pain, corruption and death in the pursuit of victory. How is it that she still stands, when others have sacrificed everything? She can see no way to adequately balance their lives against her own.</p><p>“<em>You are so beautiful</em>.” Anguished sobs tear from her throat at the memory of Solas’ loving praise. Her face is naked before him; callously he has taken the last remnant of her clan from her. His rejection twists her love into a vice that squeezes around her heart.</p><p>“<em>Shadows fall and hope has fled.”</em> She struggles to her feet, weak and wounded as they argue - would her sacrifice have meant nothing to them? Then they are surrounding her - caging her - as they kneel; voices raised in zealous harmony. As they sing their words of hope she feels dread take hold of her. The more she suffers, the greater their fervent belief that their trials are ordained. These Andrastians don’t love heroes, they crave a martyr.</p><p>These memories - this unendurable pain - layer one over the other, the weight of it crushing her til she can scarce draw breath. She claws at the stones, desperate for solid ground. Scrambling for purchase against the raging tide that sweeps over her.</p><p><em>“You have a rare and marvellous spirit. In another world…” </em>She breaks, it is too much to bear. Lani pleads to any power that can hear her, to take the pain from her; to wash her clean of this burden. She begs to be as she was before this ordeal of endless horrors. Before her heart was broken or her clan decimated. Back to the very beginning, before she was ever born into a world full of such pointless suffering. Condemn her to the Void and she will gladly embrace the sweet release of oblivion.</p><p>“Inquisitor!” She hears Cole’s voice, muffled by the roar of blood in her ears. It echoes strangely as it pierces through the howling tempest of her magic, like a voice cast down a deep well. But he is too late - she is falling, fading, drowning. She is gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Da’len - little one<br/>Vashedan - Crap</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. She Moves Through The Fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After a Harrowing, Solas tries to cheer Maera up. It does not go as planned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I have a surprise for you.” Solas says eagerly as he hikes up a rise on the edges of the Emerald March. Maera trails behind and he is keen to see that wondrous sparkle in her eyes whenever she experiences something new.</p><p>She tends to be sombre following a Harrowing and in the past he has given her space to recover. This time, he wants to try and coax her out of despondency. He waits for her at the top of the peak as she ambles through the greenery, looking quite at home among the foliage. Her hand glides over a large carving of a wolf, one of many that dot the landscape here.</p><p>“Good boy.” She gives its nose an affectionate pat as she passes it.</p><p>“You are fond of wolves?” Solas asks curiously, he thought the Dalish were quite averse to them. She stops beside him at the precipice and looks down on the clearing beneath them. A herd of Halla graze far below, moving in a loose band with their ears ever-twitching in the wind.</p><p>“The Knights’ Guardians deserve respect.” Maera states, as though that ought to be obvious. “They were loyal and dedicated companions. I suppose you think all wolves are bad?” Solas snorts at the absurdity of being accused of disliking wolves.</p><p>“Not at all.” He says. “I’m merely surprised, since that seems to be a common misconception.” Maera’s reply is lost under a sudden, deafening roar. Huge gusts of wind buffet them, as great leathery wings beat overhead. Maera’s hair whips and swirls in the downdraft and she pushes it from her face as she tracks the high dragon across the sky.</p><p><em>She is not even surprised to see a dragon, </em>he is deflated<em>. </em>Given their increasing rarity, he had expected her to be awe-struck, perhaps even terrified. Though she is tense, it is clearly from the anticipation of battle.</p><p>He has seen her fight in the Fade many times now, but this <em>readiness</em> is new to him. He can see it in the way she stands, in her steady resolve. It’s in her eyes as she studies her opponent; preparing, strategising. She is not just a Hunter, but a warrior of vast experience. Staring defiantly in the face of death has become as natural to her as breathing - it is a feeling he knows all too well.</p><p>With a piercing shriek the dragon dives toward the clearing, decimating the herd of Halla. Maera lets out an anguished cry as the monster of scale and claw lands amongst them; talons shredding and great jaws snatching them up. As the Halla’s screams echo through the trees, she prowls along the edge of the cliff; horrified, but unable to look away.</p><p><em>Oh…</em> in his eagerness to show her the dragon, he had forgotten about the resulting carnage. He winces, knowing that the Dalish consider Halla to be sacred companions. Maera looks anxious to jump off the precipice, in a futile effort to save the remaining Halla. Even in the Fade, such a fall could kill an unprepared Dreamer.</p><p>“It is a memory,” he says, leaping forward to grab her arm. There is a fleeting clarity in her expression as she looks at him. A flash of recognition, then surprise and just as quickly it is gone again. “It has already happened, you cannot stop it now.” His words are meant to reassure, but the idea of being helpless to stop it grieves her further. “Lanasta ma, I thought the dragon would interest you.”</p><p>“It’s alright.” With a deep breath, she centres herself. “It is indeed quite a sight.” Maera looks down pointedly and his fingers jerk, remembering that he still has a hold of her. They linger a moment, brushing gently where he had grasped her, til reluctantly he withdraws his hand. Maera shuffles restlessly, as though she cannot quite decide where to stand. Eventually she steps aside, until there is a more discreet distance between them.</p><p><em>This was a disaster,</em> Solas sighs as Maera’s gaze returns to the dragon and she shakes a fist at it.</p><p>“Vashedan asaara, mashev defransdim!” She shouts and Solas blinks at the outburst. His soft-spoken companion, howling obscenities like a Qunari soldier was the last thing he expected. “I’ve seen enough,” Maera states flatly, summoning a door. Solas can see by the set of her shoulders that she is still upset, as they emerge once again amongst dreams.</p><p>“You speak Qunlat?” He asks and she shrugs, looking up and down the path before them. “And you’ve seen a dragon before?”</p><p>“I don’t know what to tell you, Solas.” Maera deflects, still dithering over where she wants to go. She looks rather lost, but he is frustrated by her emotional distancing.</p><p>“No?” he scoffs. “You fearlessly defend dreams and mages from monsters that would give the bravest warriors pause. That dragon did not even frighten you, but dead Halla nearly brought you to tears!” He doesn’t know what he is driving at, but he can’t help but feel she is withholding some secret from him. “You present yourself as Dalish, but lack the isolationist zeal of their kind. You understand multiple languages and defend elves and humans alike. You would even befriend a ‘<em>flat-ear</em>’ like myself!”</p><p>“I never claimed to be Dalish.” The absurd denial of this most blatant truth - interjected by her with such indifferent moderation - makes his blood boil. “You seem upset, why does this bother you so much?”</p><p>“Why <em>doesn’t</em> it bother you more? You are not without intelligence, but you claim ignorance-” He stops short of calling her a liar. “You are perceptive and curious, yet you seem determined not to ask questions about your own origins. Why?”</p><p>“Because there are no answers, Solas!” She snaps in exasperation. “It is difficult to feel… to be,” she grasps for the words, “a stranger to yourself. Sometimes this all feels so real.”</p><p><em>It is real</em>, he wants to protest, but swallows the urge. She is finally opening up and he won’t risk her drawing inside herself again.</p><p>“Other times it seems <em>wrong</em>.” Maera pauses then, scowling pensively and he fears the moment has passed. “Why are some things so familiar…” she asks of herself as her eyes drift toward him. She dips her head when he meets her gaze, “when I have no memory of them?”</p><p>Solas regrets his frustrated outburst. He was trying to provoke a reaction from her, due to his own anxieties; a misplaced fear that she was pulling away from him. She is more than just a salve for his loneliness and he is unsettled that he would have preferred any emotion from her - even anger - over indifference.</p><p>“Are you done trying to catalogue me?” she huffs, striking close to an uncomfortable truth. “Am I nothing but a specimen to pin down in your collection?”</p><p>“Ir abelas, that was not my intention, to make you feel…” Mahogany eyes sparkle at him coyly.“Oh, you’re teasing me,” Solas smiles as another petal unfurls, revealing a new aspect of her personality.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but you do take yourself just a <em>little</em> bit too seriously.” She pinches at the air with her fingers.</p><p>“<em>People</em> take me seriously,” he replies with an edge of resentment. “Either they fear me, hate me… or want something from me.” He regards her carefully, but she does not react to his aspersion. “Only spirits greet me without judgement or motive,” he sighs ruefully. “Is it any wonder I am caught up in the mystery of you?”</p><p>“I don’t know myself, any more than I know you,” she states. “How could I hate what I do not know?”</p><p><em>You don’t hate, but do you fear me then?</em> he wonders. <em>Is that why she withdraws every time I try to coax her out of her shell?</em></p><p>“It has been my experience that people hate what they don’t understand. In this again you surprise me.” Maera flushes slightly at his sincere praise. “I’m not accustomed to being teased,” he confesses. “Though I’m not against it either.”</p><p>“Go ahead, spoil my fun.” She pouts impishly. He chuckles, relieved that she seems to have forgiven him for the shock of the Halla slaughter.</p><p>“I would never seek to disrupt any pleasure of yours.” Solas holds his hand to his heart in earnest and she stills; ears twitching in that familiar way whenever he says something that disarms her.</p><p>In moments like this he feels a pang of concern. If she <em>is</em> a spirit, could he be unwittingly influencing her? Shaping her to be a reflection of his own needs and desires. He wants to believe her thoughts and feelings are her own; that her reactions are genuine. Yet he cannot shake this sense of familiarity, that their spirits call to one another. She had confessed as much herself, he was certain she felt it too.</p><p>“Let me make it up to you.” He offers. “No dragons, I promise.” Maera nods in assent and Solas thinks of where he wishes to be. The doorway appears and he steps aside, gallantly waving her through.</p><p>He bumps into the back of her as he emerges on the other side. She has frozen in the crowd that presses together, dancing and cheering in the streets of Val Royeaux.</p><p>“I think I preferred the dragon!” She shouts, flinching as some of the masked revellers sweep past a little too close.</p><p>“The coronation of the Emperor,” he laughs against her ear to be heard above the cacophony. “Stay close.” She jumps as he takes her hand, but he leads her into the throng before she can protest. They weave through the gilded streets, stopping every now and then as some new marvel catches her eye.</p><p>“Oh, watch out.” He warns, pulling her back sharply. A party-goer lurches and promptly retches all over the pavement.</p><p>“Creators! Don’t they have any sense of moderation?” Maera’s other hand grasps his forearm for security.</p><p>“What exactly about their clothes and architecture made you think they do anything in moderation?” Solas asks wryly and she laughs. A genuine sound of easy abandon that fans a spark in his chest; a pleasant warmth spreading through him. This is what he wanted to see, her eyes shining with delight; her lovely features unreserved and full of joy. It would seem the atmosphere is more infectious than he could have anticipated.</p><p>“Come on.” He pulls her onward and smiles when she does not relinquish the extra grip on his arm.</p><p>They approach imposing golden gates, behind which the spires of the Imperial palace stretch tall above the Capital. They slip inside, of no interest to memories of guards from times past. Tittering ladies in extravagant costume waft past them on a cloud of perfume. Maera gawks at their towering wigs; obviously wondering how such absurd constructs keep from toppling over.</p><p>It is not as crammed in the palace as in the streets, but it is no less debauched. Nobles exchange pleasantries with forged smiles, then promptly turn around to gossip about each other in venomous whispers. An electric undercurrent of greed, intrigue and lust snakes through the crowd. Amongst it all Elven servants scurry, attempting to be invisible as they serve grotesque amounts of food and drink.</p><p>Maera begins to drag on his arm as he heads into the ballroom and he assumes she has guessed his intent. He turns to regard her and she is frowning, but not at him. With a weary disdain, she watches the people as they laugh and chatter. He realises it must be upsetting for her; to see this opulence that was built on the backs of elves.</p><p>Solas disengages from her grasp as he steps onto the dance floor. He bows and sweeps his hand toward her.</p><p>“Dance with me?” he entreats. She looks from him to the dancers already engaged with the music; a gaudy, swirling stream of frills and lace. Her eyes sweep uncertainly across the spectators that fill in every inch of space at the edge of the ballroom. “What are you afraid of?” He needles and her eyes snap at him defiantly.</p><p>“I’m not afraid.” She protests, taking his offered hand. Solas keeps his expression neutral, inwardly triumphant at having goaded her into dancing with him. They sway in place as they catch the rhythm and then he leads her into the round. As they dance, Maera actively casts her demure gaze anywhere but at him. Even still, she crosses over and around him with ease, hands rising and falling as they make their way across the room. She is light on her feet and confident of the steps. Solas smirks, he had suspected as much.</p><p>“Could you imagine two knife-ears brazenly dancing at the Imperial palace in the waking world?” He chuckles and steps in close to guide her through a turn. A muted gasp escapes her lips as his hand presses into the small of her back. She fills the entirety of his vision, a thrill running through him; at long last he is holding her in his arms. What he wouldn’t give to have her out of this armour, to remove this unyielding barrier between them. “You dance beautifully by the way.”</p><p>“Only because you lead so well.” Maera returns hastily as she steps away from him and back again, her hand falling gracefully onto his shoulder.</p><p>“You should give yourself credit where it is due.” She chances to look at him and is overtaken with a sudden panic. She loses her rhythm, eyes darting around the crowded room. She starts to pull away from him but he presses insistently against her waist. He grasps her face, gently urging her gaze back to him.</p><p>“There is only you and I.” He insists, his nose almost brushing against hers, as he sweeps her back into the dance.</p><p>“That is not as reassuring as you think.” There is trepidation in her warm eyes, but also an air of challenge.</p><p><em>Defiant, even in the face of death</em>, he muses, reminded of how she regarded the dragon. “I would never hurt you.” He raises her hand in his and she spins.</p><p>“You say that, but…” Maera leaves her words hanging as she twirls away from him.</p><p>“You don’t believe me?” Solas caresses down her arm as he catches up to her, twining his fingers with hers. His arm snakes around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against him. She reclines her head against his shoulder, the sinuous motion exposing her neck. His teeth grit, fighting the urge to press his mouth against her; hot breath grazing her instead.</p><p>“I believe you are dangerous.” Maera murmurs. Their hands interlock above her shoulders and they glide along the floor.</p><p>“As are you.” He breathes in her ear and notes the goosebumps that raise all along her flesh. <em>Interesting</em>,<em> does danger appeal to her? </em>The music meets a flourishing crescendo and Solas turns Maera toward him, cradling her into a graceful dip. The couples break apart, but he does not yet want to relinquish his hold. He is tempted to take her to the floor, what a sight that would be. Two elves in the midst of these pompous Orlesians, flagrantly making love at the Emperor’s ball. As though she can see his intent, Maera tries to right herself, pushing insistently at his shoulders.</p><p>Reluctantly he lets her up and she pulls away, a perplexed scowl on her brow. Solas delivers a polite bow and she turns from him, coldly breaking whatever was building between them. Heralds trumpet a fanfare and the assembly turns to the dais at the end of the ballroom.</p><p>“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Judicael!” One of the heralds announces, as the newly crowned monarch struts into the room. Solas glances aside and finds that Maera has fled, melting through the crowd of gawkers and out into the night.</p><p>“Maera.” Solas calls, hurrying after her. She halts, just beyond the ring of light that spills out through the doors. “Are you alright?” He almost places a hand on her shoulder, but thinks better of it. Perhaps she’s had enough of being touched by him. Maera closes her eyes, taking a deep breath of the fragrant air that trails in from the gardens.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she apologises. “I needed some air. It is overwhelming.” She says and then quickly clarifies, “Being amongst <em>them</em>.”</p><p>“Shall we take a walk in the garden then?” He sweeps his hand toward the orderly hedges and flowerbeds, lit only by starlight. She nods and he clasps his hands behind his back, descending a short flight of steps to a manicured lawn. “I can sacrifice the pleasures of the ball.” Maera twitches in the dark beside him.</p><p>Solas is reminded of events such as this, ages past in Elvhenan, when he was a cocksure, young elf. Many a blushing maid had willingly succumbed to his passion in quiet corners, timid and breathless. Solas wonders, if he were to press Maera against a hedge right now and lay claim to her, would she resist or welcome his advances?</p><p>She seemed receptive to his touch during the dance. But perhaps he had pushed too far, for she had rapidly withdrawn once again.</p><p><em>Everything about her is contrary!</em> he muses with frustration. All this time together and he still cannot predict her behaviour. Never knowing if an action would draw her closer or make her pull away. She had confirmed what he long suspected however - she knew he was dangerous and it made her wary. Regardless, the thrill of passive conquests waned with his youth. What he longs for, what he needs to be sure of - especially here in the Fade - is that she is not being dominated by his will.</p><p>“This place makes you uncomfortable?” He asks instead, turning aside thoughts of meaningless trysts.</p><p>“Yes.” He cannot help but scoff at her abrupt reply.</p><p>“I suppose it will avail me nothing to ask why?” Solas asks without recrimination, resigned to the fact that she will not betray herself so easily. She pulls up short, offended by his remark.</p><p>“I do not withhold parts of myself purely to aggravate <em>you</em>.” She brushes past him angrily. Stopping a few paces ahead, she hugs herself tightly. “I can feel their desires,” Maera shudders. “It all coils together; fear, hunger, lust, betrayal. They act like they are happy, but inside they are small and selfish and cruel.”</p><p>“It is the Game.” Solas remarks as he sidles up next to her. Her body shifts slightly, almost as though she were about to lean into him for comfort. His breath hitches, surprised by the longing that sweeps through him.</p><p>“It makes my skin crawl.” Maera states vehemently as she steps back instead; maintaining that polite, deliberate distance between them.</p><p>“Then let us go,” Solas suggests, trying to quell his confusion and disappointment. “Someplace where people are not so petty.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Ir abelas - I’m sorry<br/>Lanasta ma - Forgive me<br/>Vashedan asaara, mashev defransdim! - Hey shit breath, eat a dick!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lost In The Castle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The morning after the victory celebration, Leliana calls a Council to deal with lingering Venatori threats.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leliana sifts through the papers that cover her desk, the rustle of parchment echoing queerly through the Rookery. It is strange to not hear the soft murmur of activity from the Library below, or practice drills echoing through her window. With most of their contingent sleeping off last night’s excess, Skyhold is eerily quiet this morning. So it is with ease that she recognises the heavy footfalls of her Corbeaunier - long before Forester’s hooded head bobs up through the stairwell. The ravens begin cawing eagerly, their beady eyes locked on the bowl in his hands. He divides the scraps amongst the cages and the birds fall silent again, intent on their breakfast.</p>
<p>“Mornin’ Sister,” he croaks, sounding so like his feathery charges that Leliana can’t help but smile. She greets him with a nod then turns back to the report in her hand. The missive comes from Lieutenant Remille at the Inquisition encampment in Emprise du Lion. They have observed remnants of the Venatori, fleeing after the defeat of Corypheus. The cultists are hiding in old Elven ruins and their efforts to oust them had so far proven difficult. They need to deal with these cultists quickly, before they can thoroughly entrench themselves in the Dales.</p>
<p>“Forester,” she calls. The agent looks up, setting aside the small broom he is using to muck out the raven’s cages. “My apologies to the Inquisitor, but can you inform her it’s imperative we hold Council. There are some unsettling developments we need to discuss.” Forester salutes and turns on his heel. “At her <em>earliest</em> convenience,” she adds, hoping Forester will stress the need for urgency.</p>
<p>This isn’t the first report she has received regarding Corypheus’ former allies. They are scattered, disorganised and in some ways even more dangerous now; lashing out without any cohesive purpose. Leliana shuffles through the stacks of paper, drawing out the relevant reports and compiling them in order of importance. By the time she has arranged them to her satisfaction she can hear the familiar bustle of activity beginning in the courtyard - Skyhold was rousing itself at last.</p>
<p>Leliana gracefully descends the stairs from the Rookery; years of deportment training ingrained in every motion of her body. She decides to detour through Cullen’s office to collect him and hopes Josephine will be at her desk outside the War - no, Council Room by now.</p>
<p><em>I’m </em><b><em>not</em></b><em> fetching her from Blackwall’s loft,</em> she smirks as her eyes drift toward the stables. Leliana is happy that Josephine has found companionship. Though the match isn’t the most prudent for the - usually - politically astute Ambassador. Forester catches up to her as she is crossing the walkway to Cullen’s office.</p>
<p>“Forester?” she queries, unsettled by his demeanour.</p>
<p>“Apologies, Sister. I looked for the Inquisitor, but she weren’t in her chambers.”</p>
<p><em>Unexpected, but not exactly cause for concern</em>, Leliana muses. Forester gulps in air and hunches over, holding his side. Clearly he had sprinted here to find her.</p>
<p>“Did you try the garden?” The first place that she would think to find Sulahnean.</p>
<p>“Yes, Sister,” Forester winces and straightens.</p>
<p>“The mage tower?” Leliana turns back toward the main Keep, Forester trotting alongside her.</p>
<p>“Yes, Sister.”</p>
<p>“What about-”</p>
<p>“I asked the servants,” he cuts in, having finally caught his breath. “They thought she were sleepin’, ‘cause she ain’t called for ‘em yet. Looks to me like she never made it to bed.” Forester clears his throat, his voice pitching anxiously, “Maybe she’s sleepin’ some place else?”</p>
<p>"No,” Leliana replies tersely. “No, I saw her enter her quarters last night. <em>Alone,</em>” she stresses. They enter the Rotunda and she abruptly stops. “Go to the front gate and make some <em>discreet</em> inquiries. No need to start a panic, it’s probably nothing,” she reassures Forester even as her own heartbeat trebles. “I’ll be at the Eluvian.” Forester gives a curt nod and Leliana makes her way to the Hall.</p>
<p>The staff have already swept through, leaving no evidence of last night’s celebration. Turning toward the gardens she runs the events of last eve through her head. Lani’s mood had been sombre and Leliana had attributed that to the presence of obnoxious aristocrats. Though the Dalish Elf had surprised all of them with her astute navigation of Orlesian politics, she did not thrive on the great Game like herself and Josephine.</p>
<p>Even so, it was unusual for the spirited elf to be so out of sorts. By all accounts - even in the most dire of circumstances - the Inquisitor maintained an impish humour. Not the sort of indecency that often landed Sera in hot water, but a dry, incisive wit. Paired with her serene demeanour and unfailing kindness, she brought levity and hope during truly dark and disturbing times.</p>
<p>Leliana didn’t think it was due to the souring of the Inquisitor’s relationship with Solas. She had not pressed her for details, but everyone in Sulahnean’s inner circle had noted the recent, awkward tension between the Herald and the apostate. To Leliana’s eye however, she seemed more exasperated with Solas than heartsick for him.</p>
<p>As Leliana enters the gardens she is overwhelmed with the sense that she is <em>with</em> Sulahnean. For the Inquisitor, the garden was the beating heart of Skyhold. During the restoration of the Keep, the Herald had made her mark with many practical and aesthetic decisions. But it was here in the gardens that Sulahnean seemed most alive, where she had poured out her passions. At first glance it seemed utterly wild, but there was an organised chaos; an ethereal beauty that was lacking in the manicured and rigid landscaping of Orlesian gardens. Almost as though it were infused with a bit of old magic; with a part of Sulahnean herself. Strolling through the fragrant herb beds, Leliana spies the very person she seeks, reading in the gazebo with her son.</p>
<p>“Morrigan,” Leliana coolly greets her erstwhile companion.</p>
<p>“Sister Nightingale,” the witch drawls mockingly. “If you are here to hurry my exit from Skyhold, the Inquisitor did say I could leave at my own leisure.” Leliana is in no mood to verbally spar with Morrigan and ignores her needling tone.</p>
<p>“Did the Inquisitor recently make use of the Eluvian?” she asks bluntly and Morrigan’s eyebrows rise at her directness.</p>
<p>“<em>I</em> have not opened it for her,” is her evasive answer.</p>
<p>“The Lady doesn’t need a mirror,” the boy, Keiran, interjects. Leliana can’t tell if he is asking a question or making a statement. Kieran has always troubled her and not simply because his mannerisms were at times so uncannily like Alistair’s. He had a strange bearing and the intelligence behind his eyes seemed ancient. Morrigan tuts at Kieran and taps on the book in his lap, directing his attention back to his studies.</p>
<p>“So she hasn’t?” Leliana probes.</p>
<p>“She does not possess the key to open it and it would take immense power to do so without such.” Morrigan oozes condescension.</p>
<p>“Then she could have used it?” she counters.</p>
<p>“It’s not <em>impossible</em>… but highly unlikely,” Morrigan snaps exasperatedly, clearly growing tired of Leliana’s questions. “Is there a point to this vague interrogation?” Leliana does not deign to reply as she walks away, eliciting an offended harrumph from Morrigan. She decides to inspect Sulahnean’s quarters and get answers for herself.</p>
<p>It occurs to her that Cole’s absence seemed to upset the Inquisitor quite deeply; the strange bond between them eluding Leliana. From the very first moment Cole had appeared, Sulahnean had burdened herself with his welfare. Ignoring the concerns of her advisors that he was a dangerous, erratic abomination. It was quite unusual for Cole to not be lurking in the Inquisitor’s general vicinity. Despite the assurances she had given to Sulahnean, she found his sudden absence unsettling. Ironic given that once upon a time she would have been glad to be rid of him. Leliana could understand if Sulahnean wanted to search for her friend, but why would she creep out of Skyhold and not tell them?</p>
<p>“Leliana, good morning!” The Spymaster hesitates before she turns to see Cassandra exiting the Chapel. She attempts to school her features, but Cassandra knows her too intimately. “Are you alright?” Cassandra spies Morrigan’s sour expression, citrine eyes fixed sharply on Leliana from across the yard. “Did Morrigan…?” Leliana shakes her head.</p>
<p>“It’s not her.” Leliana sighs, “Sulahnean is missing.”</p>
<p>“Missing?” Cassandra repeats and Leliana makes a shushing motion; eyes darting around the garden to be sure no-one has heard.</p>
<p>“I was trying to determine if she had used the Eluvian to leave Skyhold and now I am going to check her room for clues.” Cassandra falls into step beside Leliana. In truth she is glad Cassandra is with her. Understanding people and their motivations - their secrets and desires - is Leliana’s stock in trade. Oddly enough however, it is Cassandra; straight-forward, pragmatic and blunt, that has managed to build a deeper rapport with the Inquisitor. As they enter the Hall, Forester signals to them and scurries over to deliver his report in a hushed voice.</p>
<p>“No-one spied the Inquisitor leavin’ by the main gate last evenin’. I don’t doubt their story, but they’re mostly watchin’ what’s comin’ in, more’n who’s goin’. And they don’t bother eye-ballin’ the elves.” Leliana trusts his assessment. The Inquisitor is clever enough to disguise herself if she wanted to.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Forester. Send this to Charter and the others, ‘Any sightings of the Cardinal? I’ve found only empty nests.’” Forester nods and heads for the Rookery.</p>
<p>“Spit it out, Leliana.” Cassandra folds her arms, glaring at the cagey look on Leliana’s face.</p>
<p>“Solas, Cole and Sulahnean, all gone.”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“Two elven apostates, who both happened to conveniently be near the Conclave where the Divine died, and their strange spirit friend? <em>Demon</em>, some might even argue.” Leliana always felt Solas and Cole were going to be trouble in the end. She decides not to share with Cassandra that she has been tracking spies within the Inquisition and even amongst her own operatives. They are pervasive and sly; unlike Corypheus’ agents who were easily rooted out because of their overt efforts to sabotage the Inquisition at every turn.</p>
<p>She had thought this shadow network - predominantly elves from what little she <em>has</em> managed to uncover - was part of Briala’s movement at first. Until the events of the ball at Halamshiral, where it became clear to her that Briala was too impulsive and emotional to be the leader of this cunning, subtle band. Their motives still eluded her and these mysterious disappearances only added to her concern.</p>
<p><em>Are they finally making a move?</em> <em>To what end?</em> she wonders, eyes scanning the Great Hall. There is much hustle and bustle now, as servants prepare luggage for departure. Leliana will be grateful to have these petty Nobles out of Skyhold, so that she can focus on more important matters. She spies Lord Valery’s valet - quietly agitated - cornering an elf in a shadowy arch. When he turns to glance furtively around the Hall, Leliana recognises the elf as Marquise Lysette’s maid.</p>
<p><em>Interesting…</em> Leliana muses, as the two bow their heads together, conspiring in hushed whispers.</p>
<p>“I cannot speak as to Solas and Cole,” Cassandra draws her attention back to the immediate problem, “but I thought you trusted Lani. She has certainly proved herself to be our steadfast ally <em>and</em> friend.”</p>
<p>“I <em>do</em> trust her Cassandra, but we are at a critical juncture. Yes, we’re heroes right now, but what happens to the Inquisition moving forward? There will be many looking to discredit the Herald and the Inquisition.” Leliana sighs. “It had already begun last night at the celebration. Rumors, intrigues. Imagine what is happening right now in Val Royeax and Minrathous. Even Denerim! Whatever I personally believe, I’m telling you how it <em>appears</em>.”</p>
<p>“We don’t even know if Solas-” Cassandra scowls, “no, actually he very well could be. But you can’t think <em>Cole</em> is up to anything nefarious?” Cassandra grumbles stubbornly. Leliana keeps her face neutral. The last thing she needs is Cassandra rampaging through Skyhold, bluntly interrogating every elf and tipping their hand to this slippery network.</p>
<p>“Regardless, without Sulahnean here, she can’t argue against any accusations that are levelled at her and they can build whatever narrative they want.” Leliana inclines her head toward the door leading to the Inquisitor’s private chamber. Cassandra sighs and nods, deferring to Leliana’s judgement as they exit the Great Hall and mount the stairs to Sulahnean’s room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS<br/>Corbeaunier - a keeper and handler of ravens</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Kiss From A Rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Solas is determined to impress Maera and decides he can’t go wrong with extinct creatures and not a Halla in sight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind tugs at Solas’ robes, salt spray stinging his face as he looks out over the Amaranthine Ocean. Beside him, Maera stares wistfully at the sparkling blue depths. She has that look again, as though she has encountered something familiar, but does not understand why. He hopes this memory will not be another disappointment.</p><p><em>I’m sure of it</em>, he takes her hand and leads her toward the City of Wycome. Her fingers twitch against his hand tentatively and then she boldly twines her fingers through his. He does not react or remark on it, afraid that she might retreat if he makes her self-conscious. This simple token of intimacy from her sends tingles cantering up his arm and across his back.</p><p>“Ugh!” Maera halts in her tracks. The smell from the Wycome docks slaps them in the face and she presses the side of her fist under her nose.</p><p>“It’s not <em>that</em> bad.” Solas chides and she screws her face up in disgust. He tugs on her hand but she shakes her head, holding her breath and refusing to budge. “It will be worth it, trust me.” The withering look she pins him with might have killed a lesser man; as it is he chuckles.</p><p>“That’s fair,” he admits, his recent attempts to impress her had been rather traumatic. “I really do think you will like this.” He smiles as Maera relents with a nod. He hurries them through the docks, past the hawking fishmongers and toward the town square.</p><p>Thankfully, the oppressive odour of fish guts lessens as they reach the centre of Wycome. Solas reclines against the well in the middle of the square and scans the sky, Maera following his gaze.</p><p>“It’s not <em>another</em> garast dragon is it?” She upbraids him, settling next to him on the well.</p><p><em>Garast?</em> Puzzling over her use of the word in this context, he frowns at her lack of faith. He catches movement above and points up at the breaking clouds. “There!” He crows, smirking as her eyes go wide in disbelief. </p><p>A squad of griffons circle above Wycome, their high, piping calls announcing their arrival. Gracefully they swoop down to land in the square and Maera springs to her feet. She presses a hand against her gasping mouth as she watches them trot across the cobblestones, proudly shaking their heads and folding their wings. Their Grey Warden riders dismount, helping their quivering passengers slide down onto solid ground.</p><p>Solas almost purrs in satisfaction as Maera’s eyes glitter, speechless as she watches the now extinct creatures. They preen their feathers and stamp their feet as they entreat their riders for food. The square explodes with activity, the townspeople running to greet the new arrivals. The Wardens announce an evacuation and fear spreads quickly through the town - the darkspawn are approaching.</p><p>“Is that?” Maera squeaks in awe, squeezing his bicep and then tugging on the sleeve of his robe. Solas follows her gaze to the dashing figure of an elf, blonde locks fanning in the sea breeze, as he fondly scratches the neck of his griffon. “Is it Garahel? The Warden that stopped the fourth Blight?”</p><p>“I believe so.” Solas remarks. “These Warden’s have just evacuated nobles from Antiva.” Solas affects casual disinterest, “You’ve heard of Garahel then?”</p><p>“Is there an elf that has <em>not</em> heard of Garahel?” Maera turns her wide eyes to him in disbelief and Solas feels himself prickle slightly in envy. He had brought her here for the griffons, not the legendary elf Warden.</p><p>Maera watches - enraptured - as one of the local women brings Garahel a drink and he takes it with a grateful nod and a charming smile. She tracks him as he confers with his fellow Wardens; rallying them with confidence and warm humour, even as they face impending doom. Having had a brief respite, Garahel and the Wardens leap onto the back of their griffons, taking to the sky in a great flurry of wings.</p><p>“This must be when he returns to Antiva and distracts the archdemon, so they can finish the evacuation.” Maera slumps against the well with a sigh.</p><p><em>He is just a memory</em>, Solas scolds himself, it is ridiculous to be jealous of a hero that died ages ago. All around them the people of Wycome pack their belongings, preparing to flee from the horror of the Blight.</p><p>“Our people give so much,” Maera muses forlornly. “We constantly strive to prove our worth to those that wish only to take from us.” She looks up at the swiftly receding griffons. “For all our efforts, we are still trod upon and diminished.”</p><p>“He was not one of <em>your </em>people,” Solas remarks derisively, “he was not Dalish.” Maera flinches at his tone.</p><p>“True, but he was still an elf. It seems foolish to make such distinctions when we have forgotten so much of who we were.” She frowns. “It is not his fault that he was abandoned to a life in an alienage. Who am I, to sneer at him for that? I know you think poorly of the Dalish, but if I had met him, I would embrace him as a brother.” Maera states firmly.</p><p>“In the same way I hope our ancestors would not sneer at us, or fault us because of what we have lost through slavery and oppression.” She chews on her lip and lets out a shaky breath. “And no small amount of foolish pride.” Her voice breaks with this admission and Solas feels shame deep in his core.</p><p>He has judged her people harshly, when it is he that is responsible for their decline. Solas is not sure what he can say to bring her comfort. When he finally works up the nerve to look at her, his heart breaks at the tears that fall silently down her face.</p><p>“Oh Maera, do not cry.” He hushes her, taking her face in his hands and brushing away the tears with his thumbs. “Do no cry, ma vhenan.”</p><p>“Vhenan?” She blinks, ears twitching. She tugs at the collar on her breastplate; as though it is crushing her. The words had tumbled out of him, but he does not regret them, for they were honest and true.</p><p>“My heart,” Solas whispers warmly. Somewhere, amongst all the Harrowings, heated discussions and quiet, intimate moments, she had gone from being a mere curiosity to a cherished companion.</p><p>“I know what it means,” Maera stammers, avoiding his gaze, “I didn’t think you could care for a <em>Dalish</em> elf.”</p><p>“I…” Solas hesitates, her recent remarks echoing in his head. How must he seem to her? Disdainful and sneering indeed. He tries to withdraw with dignity. “Have been too forward.” He drops his hands from her face and he steps back; a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach. “I apologise, it was presumphmm-” Maera lurches off the well, hands grasping his shoulders as her mouth crashes against him. She is a little off the mark, but quickly corrects, her soft lips closing over his. He leans into her, his hands dropping firmly against her waist. She breaks the kiss with a little sigh, eyes sparkling with mischief.</p><p>“Was that too forward?” She asks breathlessly.</p><p>“Perhaps,” he chuckles, “but it was not unwelcome.” She smiles at him shyly and it turns to a frown as she glances over his shoulder.</p><p>“Hmmm, I know this is just a memory, but this feels rather awkward. With all these people scrambling to escape the darkspawn.” She winces and pulls away from him.</p><p><em>She can’t just kiss me like that and then…</em> Solas fights the urge to pull her back into his embrace. He needs to pace himself and be mindful of her mercurial moods. <em>Don’t scare her off.</em></p><p>“You’re quite right. Let’s go somewhere quieter perhaps?” Maera nods and he takes her hand to lead her away.</p><p>Maera tenses suddenly, gaze becoming unfocused as though hearing something he cannot. It is a stance he has become well acquainted with, as it always precedes a Harrowing. A glimmering doorway manifests and he follows her through. She never seems to aid mages that are likely to succeed their Harrowing alone. Only the ones on the verge of failure - the lost causes.</p><p>Solas always keeps his distance and observes. She never asks for help, though he would willingly give it. Rescuing doomed mages seems to be her purpose and he would not rob her of it. He has seen too many times what happens to spirits when robbed of purpose - or worse - have their purpose perverted. Besides, Maera is a force to be reckoned with, fiercely protective and fearless in the face of overwhelming odds.</p><p>A ferocious grimace does little to detract from her ethereal beauty. Her sinuous form dancing effortlessly around the demons that harry her charge. She has skill with a blade, he cannot deny, but she mostly overwhelms them through sheer force of will. He starts with a sudden revelation and marvels that he had not seen it sooner. Clad in leather and fur and revelling in battle, she is an idealised reflection of Andruil.</p><p>Remove the Vallaslin and she is a portrait, created by an artist that had never seen his subject first-hand, but rather had drawn from legend. Solas had known the mad goddess, so she was not <em>his</em> idea of the Huntress, nor did Maera identify herself as such. Could she be the Dalish interpretation of Andruil? That might account for this unshakable sense of familiarity. It did not answer all his questions, but he could believe that she might be a spirit of Protection, born of Dalish faith.</p><p>Soon enough the battle is won and they are drifting the surreal paths of this mercurial realm once more. Solas decides against trying to find some exciting memory to take her mind off the Harrowing. He thinks of where she has seemed most comfortable in the past and brings her to a forest, deep and wild. Birdsong drifts through the air as wisps dart amongst the moss-laden trunks of twisted oaks. The ground is soft and cool beneath their feet, the fresh scent of earth and wood enveloping them. Though his intention was to clear her mind, he finds he wants to understand what drives her to intervene in the Ritual.</p><p>“Why do you help the mages?” he asks, not sure she will even answer such a direct question. Or if she is even listening for that matter.</p><p>“Because it’s <em>right,</em>” she replies forcefully. “The Harrowing is a flawed concept that hurts more than it helps. Even the mages that pass their Harrowing will spend the rest of their lives indoctrinated into believing that evil lurks in the Fade, waiting to possess them.” Maera's jaw clenches and he realises he has never seen her so angry before. Annoyed at him - <em>definitely</em> - but never this deep seated fury.</p><p>“The Chantry pushes a false doctrine that is used to justify the abuse and oppression of mages. They claim it’s all about protecting people, but really it’s about control.” Maera becomes more agitated, hands punctuating the air for emphasis as she paces the glade. “Magic terrifies them, so to feel safe they cow mages with the threat of death or Tranquility.” She closes her eyes as though pained deeply, “A Rite even more grotesque than the Harrowing.”</p><p>The passion of her convictions, the animated intensity of her features all make her seem so vibrant and alive. He cannot recall ever seeing anything so glorious. Solas captures her hand, halting her restless stride. He raises it to his chest, holding it with only the barest pressure, so that she can withdraw if that is her desire. To his delight she sways closer, til he can feel the warmth radiating from her.</p><p>“Maera…” Solas breathes, loving the sound of the name he gifted her on his tongue. He sweeps a braided lock of hair from her face, fingers brushing over her sensitive ear as he fixes it in place. Maera turns and presses her cheek against his hand, chasing the tender caress. His heart quivers at the heat in her demure eyes; shaken by the ardor she rouses in him.</p><p>He closes his hand more firmly around her own, bringing it up to place a chaste kiss on the tips of her fingers. Her eyes - dark with desire - lock onto his mouth, shallow breaths fluttering from her full, rosy lips. The way she matches the pace of his desire is wondrous, as though they are attuned to each other. Solas stills, familiar doubts returning.</p><p>“Where have you gone?” Maera asks, crestfallen at his hesitation.</p><p>“Forgive me.” Solas draws back and the ripple of hurt that passes over her face is unbearable. “You are exquisite and beguiling,” he tries to reassure her, “but I fear that I…” How did he explain this to her when he can’t even be sure himself? Solas catches the slight tremble in her shoulders and regrets ever opening his damned mouth.<em> “</em>That <em>you</em> are not acting of your own accord. That I’ve influenced you somehow.”</p><p>Maera quirks an eyebrow at him and slowly shakes her head. He swallows hard, not knowing whether to brace himself for anger or tears. Her hand snakes forward, snagging the front of his robe and she hooks her fingers into his belt. She tugs him toward her, not harshly, but with enough firmness it is clear she will brook no resistance.</p><p>“You’ve definitely influenced me,” she purrs with a sultry smirk. He barks a laugh at her brazenness.</p><p>“You are so… unexpected,” Solas marvels, relieved to have been rescued from his own stupidity. “And persuasive.” He murmurs, brushing his fingers up her bare biceps, raising goosebumps and a shiver of anticipation.</p><p>Maera’s arm curves around his neck and he allows himself to be drawn in closer. She presses the length of herself against him, cheek caressing his. Her lips brush over his ear, breath searing him as her needy plea breaks the last vestiges of his control.</p><p>“Take me, vhenan.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Garast - coming; entering; moving forward. Taken up by younger Dalish as slang for ‘fucking’.</p><p>Ma vhenan - my heart, a term of endearment</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Careless Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cassandra and Leliana inspect the Inquisitor’s quarters for clues as to their friends’ whereabouts.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s as Forester said.” Leliana points to the tidy bed as they step up into Sulahnean’s quarters. She walks through the open doors to the balcony, as Cassandra slowly inspects the room. Lani’s filthy boots are arranged neatly near the steps, unattended. Likewise, her dirty robes lay folded in a tidy pile next to the bath full of frigid, murky water.</p><p>The fire had died in the hearth, ashes piled high. No-one had come to clean and build a new one, nor to empty the chamber pot. Clearly no staff had been to her room to make the bed, it lay untouched overnight. Cassandra moves to join Leliana on the balcony.</p><p>“Oh, Cole!” Cassandra jumps, so startled to see him slumped on the floor beside the Inquisitor’s desk. Leliana rushes inside at her cry.</p><p>“I didn’t even see him,” she exclaims.</p><p>“Cole?” Cassandra kneels down in front of him but he stares ahead, unresponsive. “Cole!” she calls more forcefully and puts her hands on his shoulders. It is a strange sensation, like trying to take hold of a dream upon waking. You can almost recall it, just out of reach, before it begins to slide away. He blinks slowly and draws a loud, shuddering breath.</p><p>“Faith shines bright, it pierces Despair but cannot banish it.” Cassandra scowls, she was not in the mood for his riddles. “A friend of late, but so was I. Too late, too late.”</p><p>“Get Dorian,” she says to Leliana.</p><p>“I’d rather not involve more people than necessary.” The Spymaster hesitates.</p><p>“I do not understand him!” Cassandra barks. “Dorian might.” Leliana acquiesces and races down the stairs. Cassandra stands up as Cole falls silent once more. She examines the contents of the Inquisitor’s desk.</p><p>A book, the second installment of Varric’s ‘Swords and Shields<em>’ </em>series, lies open on the desk. She is embarrassed - and secretly pleased - that Lani has started reading the trashy series after she mentioned them. She hopes that Varric knows and despairs over it. Cassandra turns the wind blown pages back, finding the bookmark, a scrap of parchment covered in Lani’s neat hand.</p><p>Lani was forever scribbling in quiet moments on their journeys, but she guarded her words closely, only ever sharing them with Varric. Cassandra looks over this piece. ‘The Rose’, she has titled it and she can see all the places Lani has crossed out words, re-written entire lines and finally scratched most of it out with her pen.</p><p><em>Rubbish</em>, Lani has written in harsh criticism next to it and Cassandra gingerly places it back in the book. She should not be trying to read it, this is not relevant to her search and it is wrong of her to betray her friend’s trust this way.</p><p>She combs through Sulahnean’s official correspondence, weighed down by a Halla figurine Cassandra recognises from Halamshiral. She smirks at the idea of the Inquisitor stealing a souvenir from the Winter Palace. She finds a letter from Solas down the bottom. It is addressed to ‘Vhenan<em>’ </em>and Cassandra recalls hearing the elves use this appellation to address one another. The rest of the letter follows in Elvish, its contents a mystery to her, but perhaps of interest to Leliana. Cassandra carefully places the letter on the top of the stack.</p><p>She can see nothing suspicious and everything looks orderly, as it always is with Lani. While the elf was not so prim as to take issue with trekking through swamps and filthy caves, she remains one of the most fastidious and organised people Cassandra has ever met. Either she was an anomaly or the reputation of the Dalish for being unkempt, wild and dirty was a gross exaggeration. </p><p>She opens the drawers, rifling through more paper, pens and ink. She is about to quit when something catches her eye. A piece of scorched parchment is crumpled at the back, forgotten behind the writing implements. Gently she picks it up, ashy pieces crumbling from the edges as she unfurls it.</p><p>
  <em>Da’len, I know not whether this will reach you. The Duke of Wycome is dead, and the soldiers of Wycome blame us. All the elves in the city have been killed. </em>
</p><p>Cassandra’s hand begins to tremble. A note at the bottom, written in elegant script reads;</p><p>
  <em>Our agents recovered this letter as they laid her to rest. You have my deepest sympathies, L.</em>
</p><p>“You want me to what… <em>translate</em>?” Dorian squabbles with Leliana as they ascend the stairs. Where the Tevinter mage’s appearance is usually impeccable, today he appears disheveled and hastily dressed. He pauses to take stock of the room and approaches Cole. “The only one that ever understood the obscure babbling of this creature was Lani. Oh and the <em>Hobo,</em>” he sneers at the thought of Solas.</p><p>"What is this?” Cassandra waves the letter in front of Leliana but Dorian plucks it from her hand. As he silently reads, his jovial air turns dark.</p><p>“Clan Lavellan were purged,” Leliana states plainly. “During a Venatori plot to infect the townspeople of Wycome with red lyrium.”</p><p>“Her entire family?” Dorian gasps.</p><p>“You never told me! <em>She</em> never told me.” The revelation hurts Cassandra, she thought Lani trusted her.</p><p>“Given the already massive upheaval in her life, I thought the Herald at least deserved to grieve privately,” Leliana retorts. “If she wanted to share this with you, it was her choice. Not mine.”</p><p>“She dreamt of the ships, sails burning in the night.” They turn as one at the sound of Cole’s rasping voice. “Children in the snow, red and grey on white. They didn’t eat the anger, so anger ate them. I put the dream in a drawer and it faded away.”</p><p>“You put the dream in a drawer?” Dorian crouches down beside the errant spirit.</p><p>“Smoothing the ripples til she is clear and calm, like a looking-glass. No time for sorrow, it is binding, crippling. So small a task, to sever the cords, but the impact rings across the world.”</p><p>“Cole… <em>What</em> did you do?” From the accusatory tone in Dorian’s voice, Cassandra surmises that he makes some sense of Cole’s ramblings.</p><p>“Pitiful treasures locked away, secret, safe behind the curtain. The Elder One is merciless, I cannot let her flinch.”</p><p>“I’m not entirely sure, but I think he did something to Lani.” Dorian stands and crosses his arms, contemplating.</p><p>“Do you think he hurt her?” Leliana asks, narrowing her eyes at Cole.</p><p>“He’s definitely killed people before in a misguided attempt to alleviate suffering. But I don’t think he physically hurt her. Mostly he alters memories, after he heals people’s ‘hurts’.</p><p>“I think perhaps Lani didn’t tell you about her clan because she, well he…” He waves down at Cole, “made her forget about it.” Dorian winces, as though the effort of deciphering Cole causes him mental anguish. “Or the pain of it, maybe?” He looks from her to Leliana, to see if they comprehend his theory.</p><p>“He took her pain?” Leliana asks slowly.</p><p>"To do it once is one thing, but I think what Cole is saying he did, sounds not unlike…” Dorian hugs himself, struck with an alarming realisation, “being made Tranquil.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Cassandra looms over Cole. “The Rite of Tranquility is <em>anathema</em> to the Inquisitor!” Dorian thrusts his body between her and Cole. “How could you do such a thing? You had no right!”</p><p>“Cassandra please!” She feels Leliana’s hands on her from behind. She grunts in exasperation, throwing her hands up as she paces away from them. Her heels beat across the floor in sharp staccato as she prowls back and forth, glaring daggers at Cole.</p><p>“In your heart she burns, divinity made flesh. Tormented by impossible expectations, because she loves you.” Cole’s words bring her to an abrupt halt, piercing to her very core. “Duty, belief, hope form a prison. Delicately… <em>ardently</em>… he pries open the lock and she is free. She has only just begun to soar, why did he clip her wings?” A tear rolls down Cole’s pale cheek.</p><p>“‘Tell me you didn’t love me!’ The anger helps the hurt, so I let her keep it.” Cole scowls suddenly. "And he deserved it. An ancient anguish, so loud it called to me. But he hounded me away, he guards it jealously. She made him forget once too, but he <em>wants</em> to remember. His penitence, it reminds him of his purpose.”</p><p>“Maferath’s bloody great ball-sack!” Dorian exclaims and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is far too early in the morning for this. Can you <em>try</em> to focus Cole, where is the Inquisitor?”</p><p>“She was falling, fading, too late to stop it, to put it back.” Cole shakes his head.</p><p>“Lani <em>fought </em>for you to be here Cole. Against every argument that you were a demon twisted beyond redemption. She <em>believed</em> in you and you betrayed her,” Cassandra hisses.</p><p>“We don’t know enough to draw any conclusions,” Leliana tries to cut in. “If Sulahnean were here, she would not want us to be making any rash judgements.”</p><p>“Oh, and what <em>would</em> the Inquisitor do?” Dorian asks impudently.</p><p>“She would be calm, measured and seek all the facts-”</p><p>“Because this <em>leech </em>was stealing away any rational fear she might have had!” Cassandra cuts in, her rage boiling over again. She knows she is being too emotional, taking it too personally. <em>Tranquility! How could Cole do such a thing?</em></p><p>“Cassandra, <em>enough</em>!” The angry admonishment from Leliana is like a slap in the face to Cassandra. “Even before Cole joined us, the Inquisitor was always even-tempered and private. You <em>know</em> this."</p><p>“She presses her scar against the dreaded orb, healing the sky. But it’s still inside her, growing, tearing a hole that cannot be mended. The horror comes seeping back, flowing, flooding. Too much, too much. ‘I can’t breathe, help me!’ I should have been here to catch her.” Cole buries his face in his hands and an uneasy silence falls over them. At length Dorian gives himself a little shake and clears his throat.</p><p>“I’m no Fade expert by any means but, it seems something changed after we defeated Corypheus. We know that the Orb was a focus for power, enough to pierce the Veil itself. When it was destroyed, what if the Inquisitor, or the Anchor as it were, became that focus instead?” Cassandra recalls something her friend had confided to her.</p><p>“Lani did mention that ever since she received the Anchor her connection to the Fade had increased by magnitudes. With each Rift she closed, she could feel that link growing stronger.”</p><p>“It frightened her,” Dorian intuits.</p><p>“Yes,” Cassandra confirms. “She was afraid it would prove ever more tempting to demons. She wanted to prepare me. She asked me to keep watch in case she ever…”</p><p>“Became an abomination,” Leliana supplies as Cassandra halts.</p><p>“What if she suddenly found the Fade seeping through her and had no way to stem it. These stolen feelings?” Dorian inclines his head toward Cole, “As he described, a trickle at first until it grew into a terrible, devastating flood. It’s possible Cole didn’t counter for the power of the Anchor. He probably thought what he did was permanent.”</p><p>“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” Leliana’s face is a grim mask.</p><p>“It must have been overwhelming. Terrifying,” Cassandra remarks quietly, ashamed that her friend had suffered alone. A cold shiver runs down her spine as she recalls what she had read in the Book of Secrets. There was only one record of a mage ever having Tranquility reversed. He had gone mad; unable to control his emotions, he was a danger to all around him and the Seekers had been forced to kill him.</p><p>“Is this how it feels, the aching inside? I didn’t know I had a heart to break,” Cole’s voice is strangled, full of anguish.</p><p>“What if she thought she was being possessed?” Leliana posits.</p><p>“Having never been subject to possession myself, I cannot exactly say what it would <em>feel</em> like,” Dorian muses. “Pure speculation of course. All we have are our own assumptions based on Cole’s ever so cryptic doggerel.“And…” Dorian groans, chidingly tapping his fist against his forehead. “She was uncharacteristically skittish last night. Downright gloomy at times in fact, though she tried to hide it. I was drunk, I didn’t-” Dorian shakes his head and Cassandra squeezes his shoulder. “So caught up in my own damn happiness,” he grates out and Cassandra feels a small stab of guilt, thinking of her own conversation with Lani last night.</p><p>“If she <em>believed</em> she was becoming an abomination,” Leliana presses. “We all know the Inquisitor would never allow herself to become a danger to others.” Leliana looks pointedly at the doors gaping wide onto the balcony. “We must search the valleys below Skyhold.”</p><p>“You cannot <em>believe</em>…” Cassandra trails off, aghast at the implication of Leliana’s words. “She would never. <em>Never</em>!” She lurches away, brushing off the hand Leliana reaches toward her. She has heard too many unsettling things today and has no explanation for any of it. As she storms down the stairs her stomach roils with anger, then the cold weight of guilt. It stops her short and she takes a calming breath. The Seeker leans her head against the chamber door, Leliana is right, they need to be certain.</p><p>“I will do it,” Cassandra calls back to Leliana, a dark silhouette at the top of the landing. The shadow nods and Cassandra steps through the door. Her strides are still forceful; no longer angry but full of purpose. People scurry out of her path and Cassandra envies them in a way. Going about their daily business, unaware of the growing crisis or burdened by a sense of failure.</p><p><em>Never, </em>Cassandra rejects the idea that Lani would ever take her own life. In the field Lani was stoic in the face of adversity, never morose or ill-tempered. She thought of the many hours she had spent in conversation with Lani, baring her inner-most thoughts and sharing her burdens with her friend. It occurs to her that Lani’s responses were always measured and supportive - occasionally teasing - but that the Inquisitor surrendered little of her own troubles, unless directly asked.</p><p>Even so, she knew that Lani felt things far more deeply than she ever expressed and Cassandra felt they had grown to know each other so intimately they surpassed the need for words. At least, that is what she thought. Cassandra does not know if she believes Dorian’s hypothesis, but doubts stir deep in her gut. Surely it is all too far-fetched, isn’t it?</p><p>“<em>Tormented by impossible expectations, because she loves you.”</em> Cole’s words ring in her ears and she has to steady herself against the rough stone of the Keep. She believed in the Herald <em>because</em> she had done the impossible. Cassandra blinks, eyes stinging. Did she truly put too much pressure on her friend, expecting her to face the insurmountable?</p><p><em>Not alone, I never asked her to do it alone</em>. Cassandra was here for her, didn’t Lani know that?</p><p><em>Maybe if she had actually had the chance to talk about how she felt, if he hadn’t taken that from her!</em> Cassandra thinks, still angry at the thought of what Cole claimed to have done. She realises that she is mostly angry at herself however. She called Lani a friend and yet she did not even notice what Cole was doing to her. There was truth in what Leliana had said; Lani had always been reserved, keeping her private thoughts to herself and projecting an outward calm.</p><p><em>Even so, I should have seen, s</em>he berates herself, <em>I should have done more. </em>She cannot assuage the guilt she feels, thinking of how they - how she - treated Lani in the beginning. With hostility and distrust.</p><p><em>Is it any wonder she kept her counsel to herself?</em> By the time she might have been ready to confide in Cassandra, Cole had undoubtedly already begun his perverse work.</p><p>Her legs are leaden as she climbs the stairs to Cullen’s office. She dreads having to share this news with him, she knows he will be as devastated and angry as she. Cassandra did not know if Lani was aware of Cullen’s feelings, she wondered sometimes if even Cullen fully knew it. But she had seen how his eyes lingered on her, how he softened in Lani’s presence. No-one else but Lani could turn the competent, clear-headed Commander into a nervous, fumbling mess. Or trigger an uncharacteristic fury in him when her safety was threatened.</p><p>But Lani only had eyes for Solas, despite Cassandra’s best attempts to warn her that the apostate could not be trusted. Subtlety was not her forte and her efforts had very nearly damaged their friendship. It gives Cassandra no comfort to have been proven right in that regard. Yet all along the real danger, wearing the face of a hapless, innocent boy, was lurking quietly in Lani’s shadow. She pushes open Cullen’s door and steels herself for the conversation to come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Da’len - little one<br/>Vhenan - heart</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. For She Had Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>NSFW</p><p>A Pride demon, seeking to enter the physical world, sets a trap for Maera.</p><p>Solas and Maera do the grindy-bumpy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas groans at her urgent entreaty, hands grasping her sides. His fingers dig into her armour, desperate to feel her true shape underneath. She slides back along his cheek, her mouth coming to stop over his. Maera’s lips part, their hot breath mingling as he curls his tongue over hers. She tastes sweet, almost fragrant - like a spiced peach.</p><p>Her hands pluck at his robe, bunching the fabric and trying to pull it loose. In her haste she has somehow tangled it over the belt, foiling her efforts and he laughs gently at her impatience.</p><p>“It’s only part of our imagination.” Solas explains and wills his robe to evaporate. Maera gasps in wonder, her hands pressing against his chest. They roam up over his shoulders and down across his abdomen; keen eyes tracing their path. As much as he enjoys her lustful exploration, he wants to touch her too. He catches her hands, giving her a pointed look.</p><p>“Oh.” Maera blushes, smiling an apology. Her brows knit, as she tries to follow his example. She grunts in exasperation, hands fisting in his, as she looks down at her fully clothed body.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Solas soothes, “this can be fun too.” He keeps his tone light-hearted; even at this juncture, as eager as she seems, he is wary. <em>Slow, gentle, safe, </em>Solas cautions himself<em>. Do not remind her of danger.</em> Or whatever it is that she sees, when she penetrates him with clear, cautious vision. He would not relish the depth of his frustration, if she were to withdraw from him now.</p><p>His nimble fingers search for the buckles under her shoulder guard, as she goes to work on her bracers and scabbard. As the guard falls away she takes it from him, neatly arranging the items on a mossy rock. He begins to work on her breastplate and Maera’s hands wander instead, coming back to his shoulders. Solas’ fingers tremble, fumbling at the clasps, as Maera’s mouth burns a trail from his neck down his chest. He groans as her ardent touch explores the peaks and valleys of his torso, finally probing along the waistband of his trousers.</p><p>“Maera… Maera please.” He pleads as her tongue flicks over a nipple and he grabs her behind the neck, pulling her up to look at him. “I want to touch you too.”</p><p>“Sorry.” She murmurs, not looking the least bit contrite. Her eyes smoulder with desire, mouth twitching up in an insolent smirk. Solas almost bites his own tongue, teeth clamping down with the effort to contain himself. Is she aware of what she is doing? Is she trying to break his restraint? Maera flutters kisses along his jaw, easing the tension she has noted there. Without further distraction she helps him unlock the breastplate and it too settles on the rock. It amuses him, how particular she is about keeping track of objects in the Fade. Has she forgotten that it is a construct of her own mind, or is she simply diligent by nature? In either case, it is strangely endearing.</p><p>He sinks to his knees, hands brushing down her curves, coming to rest on the juncture of thigh and bottom. He squeezes the pliant flesh there, deliberately letting his fingers sweep down against her inner thighs. Maera hums in anticipation, her fingers grasping at his head and shoulders. He pulls her down to recline against a trunk and wedges in between her knees to work on her legs.</p><p>It is fun in fact, slowly unravelling the leather bindings from her slender calves; like opening a long desired present. Maera unhooks the clasps on her jacket, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as she watches him adeptly remove her armour. She surveys him with such heated intensity it makes him want to tear the remainder of their clothes off in a frenzy. Solas tosses the bindings carelessly to the side - ignoring her cry of protest. Grabbing her legs, he drags her down beneath him. He slides an arm behind her head as he kisses her. His other hand dives into the open front of her jacket, pushing up her undershirt; anxious to caress her bare skin. She trembles at his touch, moaning into his mouth as her leg curves over his backside, trying to pull him flush against her.</p><p>Maera attempts to shrug off her jacket and he leans back a little to helpget her arms out of it. Then he pulls off her undershirt; it is all a bit awkward in this position, but he has no desire to move any further from her now. Tenderly he strokes her cheek, brushing his thumb over her lips and dipping it inside to graze over her teeth and tongue.</p><p>Maera closes her eyes, surrendering to his touch as he trails his fingers down her neck and over her chest, taking hold of the strings that bind her breastband. He tugs them loose and the band falls away. She gasps as his hand molds over one of her breasts. He dips his head, mouth latching onto it, tongue swirling around the budding peak.</p><p>“Ah!” She arches into his mouth, grasping the back of his head and desperately pulling him against her. Her other hand roams down his back and dips inside his trousers. She squeezes his ass as her hips thrust up, brushing against the achingly hard bulge in his trousers.</p><p>He reels away from her, hands grasping both the waistband of her leggings and her smalls, peeling them off her legs in one go. He catches an ankle as her legs fall free and leans down to kiss her inner thigh. Solas nibbles along the smooth skin to her knee, his fingers brushing against her core.</p><p>When he slides his middle finger inside her she mewls, squirming so delightfully. He leans back over her, guiding her leg around his waist as his mouth lands on her other breast. She is so slick with arousal and he adds a second finger, groaning at the evidence of how strong her desire for him is. His digits thrust and curl inside her, beckoning her pleasure as his thumb slides through her folds, massaging her clit.</p><p>“Solas,” she pleads, her voice a needy whimper.</p><p>“Mmmm, vhenan?” He queries, looking up at her beautiful, flushed face.</p><p>“I said take me.” The pure lust in her eyes - that throaty command - are almost enough to bring him undone in his trousers. He withdraws his fingers, body crashing into hers with a growl as he bites her shoulder. She ignites fire in his blood and loins and he no longer has the presence of mind to will his trousers gone. Instead he hastily pulls his erection free, pressing it against her entrance. He remembers himself at the last moment and with great effort he stills, couching himself slowly, cautiously.</p><p>Even so, she cries out as he presses inside her, quivering under and around him. He trembles at the powerful hold she has over him. It is madness that he held off so long from this; that he ever thought she was not receptive to his advances. Solas kisses her throat as he pulls out slowly and he can feel her tense, trying to hold on and draw him back in. He happily obliges, rocking back into her.</p><p>“Oh… Mmm!” Maera’s little gasps and moans send a thrill through him as she clutches at him. He braces his forehead against her shoulder as he increases the tempo of his thrusts. His hand squeezes the back of her thigh, pulling her against him as he chants her name, punctuated with broken Elven declarations of worship.</p><p>“You feel so-oh…” Maera’s head falls back, all words lost as Solas shifts slightly, his pelvis pressing against her clit. Her walls spasm around him as he steadily grinds into her. She can’t seem to catch her breath and suddenly she arches into him, nails digging into his back as she is lost in shuddering ecstasy. With an ardent moan and a few jerking thrusts he greets his own climax, buried deep inside her.</p><p>They rest in the afterglow - entwined together among moss and ferns - beneath the swaying arbor of oaks. Maera’s head nestles against his chest, one arm flung across his torso, a long leg coiling around his. Solas idly strokes her hair, letting dark, silken strands trickle through his fingers.</p><p>She stretches, languid and cat-like, a satisfied sigh tickling his skin. Her contentment draws a small smile of pride from him as he replays their tryst in his mind. Solas had thought - given her past hesitancy and bashfulness - that she might be green and fumbling. She had surprised him once again with her eagerness.</p><p><em>What other surprises await? </em>He ponders, eyes raking over her supple form, imagining all the ways in which he could lay claim to it.</p><p>“Solas?” Propping up on her elbows, she draws him from his contented musings. “If I am…” she begins uncertainly, “if I were to wake from this dream.” He quirks an eyebrow, this is the first time she has actively contemplated her own nature without his prompting. “What if I never saw you again?”</p><p>“Whenever you are in the Fade, or beyond it,” he gently cradles her face, holding her gaze with his own. “I promise, I will always come to you.” Maera leans in, her forehead pressing against his. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you,” he confesses, surprising himself. Maera’s soft mouth brushes against his and he cups the back of her head, holding her close as he smoothly rolls her beneath him. His tongue parts her lips, deepening the kiss as she sinks into the soft grass.</p><p>“I want to give you something,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Again?” Maera arches an eyebrow at him, a smirk on her lips. He throws his head back, laughing without reservation. “I like the sound of your laugh,” she says caressing his jaw. Her thumb comes to rest on the dimple in his chin, playful gaze so full of affection his chest could burst.</p><p>“I do not recall a time I have ever felt so content,” he replies earnestly, kissing her hand. Solas rears back to kneel, twining his fingers through hers to help her sit up. “I want to give you a gift. It’s a memory of something a friend gave to me, long ago.”</p><p>“Should you be giving it to me then?” He soothes her concern with another quick kiss, touched by her thoughtfulness.</p><p>“I think she would be happy for me to give it to you. I’m fairly certain she would laugh at me in fact.” Thinking of Mythal brings to mind his younger self; brash and impulsive. Her death had changed him - hardened him - in ways he doubted even Mythal could have predicted.</p><p>“Laugh at you? Impossible!” Maera’s eyes widen with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re so <em>serious</em>.”</p><p>“You tease me, but it’s true,” he chuckles as he rummages through the pile of her clothes. “She would laugh at what a sentimental, old fool I’ve become.”</p><p>“Hmmm, there’s nothing wrong with being sentimental,” she replies archly.</p><p>“Alright,” he drawls good-naturedly. He had told her he didn’t mind being teased after all. Finally he finds the object of his search, the shard of crystal she has kept all this time. “May I?” He asks, holding it up and she inclines her head in assent; watching him with an amused, questioning expression. He drops the iridescent shard into her hand and cups both of his around hers. Solas imagines the pendant, a carving of a wolf’s head and wills it into existence.</p><p>“The original was in onyx,” he pulls away to reveal it. “I thought perhaps, you would like this better.” She turns it over in her hand, delicate fingers tracing its shape.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, twitching ears betraying the depth of her emotions.</p><p>“<em>You</em> are beautiful,” he replies, picking it up and fastening the chain around her neck. Solas lingers, tracing the line of her collarbone, across her shoulders and down her arms. He grasps her waist and pulls her to her knees, holding her flush against him as he captures her mouth in another hungry kiss. One hand roams lower, the delicious curve of her backside made to fit his palm.</p><p>Maera moans, nails raking across his scalp and down his spine, as her teeth nibble his bottom lip. The wanton sounds she makes ignite his desire, his body shaking with the intensity of it. Solas fights the urge to throw her to the ground, pin her down and ravage her like a rutting beast. He does not want to frighten her with the violence of his affection. He desperately wants to keep her safe, even from himself.</p><p>Maera breaks from him with a sudden gasp, startling to her feet.</p><p>“Fenedhis!” he curses. She is armoured instantaneously as she leaps through the glimmering portal behind him. “<em>Now</em> she figures it out,” Solas grumbles as he scampers after her. He dresses himself with an afterthought as he passes through the doorway.</p><p>The reason for her urgency is apparent, as he emerges in the midst of the Harrowing. The lingering energy of vanquished demons lies thick on the ground, yet still a Pride demon looms before them, holding a battered young mage by the throat. She has put up quite a fight, even now kicking and scratching at the demon as Pride dangles her in the air.</p><p>“Let her go!” Maera commands, Dar’misaan in hand, her body coiled to strike. The demon sneers at her, its mocking laugh deep and guttural.</p><p>“I heard there was a Dreamer,” Pride growls, tossing the mage aside with a flick of its wrist. Adrenaline surges through Solas’ body at the implication of its words, though Maera seems unmoved. He doesn’t know if she is putting up a brave front or simply oblivious to the demon’s intent.</p><p>“She has served her purpose, what other use is this pitiful girl to me? Trapped in a tower with no escape beyond death. I seek to be <em>free</em> in the world!” Pride charges, monstrous horns pointed at Maera.</p><p>She dodges to the side, blade glancing off the demon’s jagged skin. It turns - impossibly fast - large talons raking the air where Maera had been but a heartbeat ago. Her blade sings, slicing faster than the eye can see. But every blow meets resistance, unable to pierce the beast’s armour.</p><p>“You can’t hide them from me,” Pride snarls, “I will learn your darkest secrets.” Maera ducks and weaves, staying only moments ahead of the grasping hands that can crush her with little resistance. She does not waste her energy engaging in banter with Pride, intent only on finding a weak point. “You bury them deep, but I can feel them, slithering like worms beneath the surface of your mind.” It laughs, cruel and malevolent. “I will dig them out. You will break, they <em>all</em> break.”</p><p>Solas can see her faltering, slowly driven back beneath the relentless attacks of the demon. He wills himself to change; to transform, as he falls to all fours. A long snout and tail sprout from his body as he grows in size, dark and dreadful.</p><p>The mage lets out a whimper, her body writhing on the ground. It draws Maera’s eye for a second and that is all Pride needs; snatching her up like a cat with a mouse. It knocks the Dar’misaan from her grasp as it pulls her toward its razor fangs. Daggers materialise in her hands and she thrusts one into Pride’s gaping jaws. The demon rears back with a roar and Solas is upon it, piercing teeth latching onto the demon’s shoulder. His claws rake gashes down Pride’s back as Maera jabs at its throat, trying to wedge her dagger in between the armoured joints. Pride slams Maera to the ground and reaches over its head, attempting to tear Solas off. He holds fast, powerful jaws crushing through Pride’s armour.</p><p>Maera scrambles out from under the demon’s feet. She cradles the mage, trying to still the convulsions that tear through the girl. Pride manages to take hold of Solas and wrenches him from its body, tossing him at Maera. Solas twists in the air, landing on his feet, large paws digging furrows in the ground to brake his momentum. He spits out the steaming chunk of Pride’s shoulder that has torn away with him.</p><p>“Are you become a lap-dog now, Fen’Harel?” Pride hisses and Solas snarls in return, the demon’s foul blood dripping from his maw. Beside him the mage suddenly cries out, terror marking Maera’s face. A lyrium brand glows on the mage’s forehead and a split-second later her spirit violently bursts apart, evaporating into the Ether.</p><p>“No,” Maera whispers. She stares at her empty arms in a state of shock. Pride cackles maliciously and Maera’s hands fist shut. Her arms shake as she screams, her rage palpable. Solas feels the crackle of energy radiating from her, his fur standing on end as it ripples over him. She shoots up from the ground and into the air. Solas cannot look at her without his eyes watering, for she is a white-hot flare, blazing with anger. Terror seizes the air in his lungs. He fears that her failure to rescue the mage has corrupted her, twisting her into a demon of rage.</p><p>Maera flings her arms wide as she floats above Pride, the demon snarling at her defiantly. She curls in on herself as she draws the very fabric of the Fade to her. A massive stone forms from the Ether - practically a mountain. As she thrusts her arms forward it slams down upon Pride and its open-mouthed shock. There is a loud, crunching pop, followed by a wet squish. The sound of a cockroach being ground underfoot; though the smell is a hundred times worse, fetid and rotten.</p><p>Maera folds limply to the ground, as though her strings have been cut and Solas races to her side. Returning to his normal form, he blindly takes her in his arms.</p><p>“I’m here Maera, ma vhenan!” he calls, her rage searing him. “Remember who you are.”</p><p>“No!” she howls and his heart aches at the anguish in her voice. He recalls how she was when he first laid eyes on her, so aloof and untouchable. Being with him - slowly awakening - has made her vulnerable. Solas feels a pang of guilt; it’s possible if he hadn’t pursued her, she may never have known fear, pain and anger.</p><p><em>Pride would still have come for her,</em> he thinks, trying to justify his choices. Deep down he suspects he would have always followed her - even knowing one day it might cause her great sorrow. He knows it is terribly selfish, but the thought of being without her is unbearable. He holds her closer, letting her burn him; stroking her arms and back as her anger slowly subsides. Solas scoops her up then, her hands twisting in his robe as she weeps.</p><p>He carries her back to the forest from whence they came. He settles them on the clover, holding her on his lap as she trembles. Gently he strokes her hair and whispers quiet words in the tongue of his people. Eventually she sniffles, going limp in his arms - emotionally and physically spent. They sit in silence for a time, their steady breathing the only sound in the grove.</p><p>Maera pulls up suddenly, her face stricken as she turns his hands over. She examines his body for burns, fingers trailing over him in panic. He gives her a reassuring smile, no harm she causes could mar him permanently. She holds surprising power indeed, but nothing to rival his own strength of will. Relief washes over her and she buries her face against his shoulder.</p><p>“You had me worried.” Solas crushes her against him, planting feverish kisses on the top of her head; so relieved is he to have her back.</p><p>“You were a wolf,” she utters incredulously.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Fenedhis - a common elven curse<br/>Vhenan - heart</p><p>A/N - I have agonised over this chapter far too long. This is the first smut I have ever posted and I hope it does not disappoint.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. No-one Loves The Messenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cassandra breaks the news to Cullen about the Inquisitor and he assigns Harding to search for her.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You don’t… she wouldn’t.” Cullen collapses weightily into his chair, his throat working to form words. He recoils, his entire being rejecting the offensive idea.</p><p>“I don’t believe, no.” Cassandra is firm and Cullen feels a small wave of relief. “But before we start a panic, we should eliminate the most obvious possibility first.” He cradles his head in his hands.</p><p>“I heard the ravens leaving. I wondered why so many, so suddenly. Now I know.” He looks up sharply, “But the longer we take, if she has left, she could slip away-”</p><p>“She is not our prisoner Cullen!” Cassandra rebukes him, but her tone softens at his expression. “If she truly wanted to leave she could do so, we…” Cassandra cannot finish, her voice choked with emotion. Cullen knows what she feels. He doesn’t want to believe Sulahnean has thrown herself to her death. But nor can he accept she would steal away in the night and not bid them farewell. After everything they had been through, neither scenario sounded like the woman he knew - or thought he did.</p><p>“Let me know when the Scouts are ready.” Cassandra states as she leaves and he waves in absent acknowledgement. He is still processing, disbelieving. They had just celebrated their incredible triumph, over an ancient Magister of incomprehensible power. What could have possibly brought the Inquisitor so low after such a victory? Perhaps there had not been one single incident, but a multitude of them. She was not made of stone after all. Sulahnean had led them through the impossible, with patience and compassion. Cullen was all too keenly aware of the surprising tenderness that lay beneath her stoic demeanour.</p><p>He can still recall her cool, gentle touch on his fevered brow, as she nursed him through the worst of his lyrium withdrawal. The soft murmur of her sweet voice, soothing him when he was startled awake by haunted nightmares. He had been so ashamed at first, that she - the Herald of Andraste - had seen him in such a state. That she would spend her precious time attending to him when the whole world was at stake.</p><p>“<em>I need you, Cullen</em>,” she had said and his heart had thundered, fit to burst, “<em>I can’t do this without you.” </em>He believed she was inflating his importance, but he knew better than to argue with the Inquisitor. Cullen had seen first hand what happened to those who mistook her merciful spirit for weakness; or quiet manners for timidity. Corypheus was chief amongst them, but the list of her vanquished enemies was as long as the Chant. He smirks despite the sorrow he feels.</p><p>Cassandra had not told him how they reached their appalling conclusion, that the Herald might have harmed herself. He trusts their judgement and yet - it feels wrong. He knows the Inquisitor carries a lot of grief. Knows how burdened she is by every life lost, every hard choice made. He thought he had done all he could to help ease those burdens. That he had always encouraged and supported her wholeheartedly, even when he didn’t necessarily agree with her choices.</p><p><em>Was it enough?</em> She was only mortal after all. Just a slip of a woman, but with steel resolve underneath her big heart. It is what he admires - no - what he loves about her. He cannot deny it any longer and he feels a surge of jealous resentment beneath his despair.</p><p>“Solas,” he growls, that smug apostate. He pounds his gloved fist on the table, his head falling in sorrow. <em>If that bastard has driven her to…</em> Cullen cannot bring himself to finish that train of thought. He grits his teeth and calls out to whichever Aide is posted outside his office. If he ever sets eyes on that elf again, he will throttle him.</p><p>“Commander.” Bryce lumbers into his office and delivers a rather sluggish salute. Cullen cannot fault him, they had all let loose the night before. Maker knows, they had earned it.</p><p>“Find Harding for me. No rest for the wicked,” he frowns. This is not how he thought the morning after would be. Bryce hurries away, leaving Cullen to sit in silence, his thoughts turning grim. His desk is littered with unfinished work but he cannot seem to focus on any of it - it has become incomprehensible noise. He pushes up from his chair, trying to shake off the melancholy. They know nothing for certain, he has to hold out hope. She had been through so much and triumphed over all adversity, he believes in her; believes that she would not abandon them. He needs to centre himself and concentrate on his duties, that’s what she would have done.</p><p>“<em>Let’s do what we can in the meantime.”</em> So many times he had heard her speak those words as they stood in the War room. It was more than just pragmatism from Sulahnean. It was central to her principles. To always do what they could, to do what was <em>right - </em>not necessarily what was expedient, or profitable.</p><p>So that was how they always moved forward. Patiently tackling a problem, doing what they could - when they could - until it was resolved. Never deterred when a new crisis arose, never flinching at the losses, but always persevering. The results spoke for themselves. Slowly, steadily, until they’d finally won the day.</p><p>Scout Harding shuffles into his office, looking worse for wear. “Harding reporting for duty, Ser.” Cullen waits til she closes the door behind her.</p><p>“Sorry to do this to you and your men today, Harding.” He grimaces by way of apology, but Harding shrugs it off. He sighs ruefully, there is no easy way to break this news. “We need you to search the ravines north of Skyhold.” Harding raises a questioning eyebrow and Cullen clears his throat, finding it difficult to form the answer.</p><p>“This is not to be shared, even with your men, but we have reason to be concerned.” He clears his throat again, trying to maintain a neutral tone of command. He doesn’t want to say the words though, to voice it would make it real.</p><p>“Ser?” Harding interjects into the silence. Worry lines form on her brow and it shakes the paralysis out of him. He has a duty to these people, to lead them with calm assurance.</p><p>“Sister Leliana fears something may have happened to the Inquisitor.” As alarm spreads across Harding’s features Cullen presses on. “We know nothing for certain, simply that no-one has seen the Inquisitor since last eve. We want to rule out the worst possibility before we let people know she is gone.” Harding nods slowly. “Seeker Pentaghast will be accompanying you, let her know when you’re ready to leave.” He dismisses her with a nod.</p><p>“Yes, Commander.” Harding salutes crisply and darts out of his office. Cullen knows it would raise too many questions if he were to suddenly depart on a mere scouting mission. It makes sense for Cassandra to go, but he desperately wishes that he could. He knows that from now until they return he will be restless with anxiety.</p><p>Cullen steps out of his office and into the glorious sunlight, hoping to chase away the chill that has overtaken him. He needs to do something to help him expel all this nervous energy. He paces the battlements, eyes unerringly drawn north to the jagged, snowy peaks that loom behind Skyhold.</p><p>He wishes now that he had approached her at the celebration last night. She had been surrounded by nobles and he - like a coward - had done everything he could to hide from them amongst his officers. Cullen stood back and watched while she charmed and flattered, just as Josephine had taught, but with a grace that was all her own.</p><p>Underneath though he could see it - her exhaustion - and convinced himself it was just one night. One more night, then their guests would be gone on the morrow and she could finally rest; could finally lay down her burden. But he was lying to himself, deep down he knew she would never be free. Cullen sighs, he should have dragged her away from them, propriety be damned.</p><p><em>Would she have welcomed the interruption? </em>he wonders. What did he think would happen? What was it he hoped for? She is the Inquisitor and a Dalish mage; he a human and former Templar to boot. It was a miracle she even deigned to call him a friend. <em>She</em> was a miracle - the Herald of Andraste. Was it ordained that she suffer a tragic end, just like the bride of the Maker?</p><p><em>“I need you Cullen.” </em>A sudden vision of Lani crying, alone in her despair, bursts into his mind. He reels in horror as she falls - broken on the mountainside.</p><p>“No,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes closed against the image. He feels as though those very mountains are crushing him, squeezing the breath from his chest. Cullen leans against the parapets, head pressing against the unyielding stone as he gulps in great, icy lungfuls of air until it burns.</p><p><em>I’m sorry Lani, I’m so sorry. </em>He had promised her, never again would she face the despair and hopelessness of Haven. He <em>must</em> find something to take his mind off this.</p><p>Maybe he should question the guards that were on duty last night. If the Inquisitor had managed to slip out, they clearly weren’t doing their job. But until they confirm what had actually happened it would be wrong of him to reprimand them. Perhaps he can run the troops though some drills.</p><p><em>No, that’s far too cruel, </em>he quickly realises and drags his fingers through his hair in frustration. Cullen decides to head to the Tavern, maybe Bull would be up for a sparring match. He really feels like hitting something right now. <em>Hitting it </em>very<em> hard.</em></p><p>As he descends the stairs he catches sight of Harding and Cassandra by the front gate. They look geared up and ready to join the rest of the scouts at the main encampment. Cassandra spots him as he crosses the yard. He waves forlornly, he cannot wish them good luck and Cassandra nods solemnly in return. He makes a silent prayer as he watches them depart.</p><p>
  <em>Andraste, please bring them home empty handed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Dread Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After attempting for so long to pry from Maera the truth about her nature, it is Solas that has his dark secrets laid bare.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“But not really a wolf,” Maera says, studying him. “Something more.”</p><p>Solas pulls her up with him as he climbs to his feet. He backs away and holds her gaze, transforming. Maera gasps as he towers before her, his many eyes gleaming crimson in the low light.</p><p>“Tel’gela em,” he rumbles. “I would never harm you.” Solas prowls closer and dips his head, inviting her to touch him. Maera reaches up tentatively and he snaps his jaws shut - a hair’s breadth from her outstretched fingers.</p><p>“Ah!” she cries out, snatching her hand back and leaping away from him. Solas chuckles, low and teasing and her eyes narrow as she clutches her heaving chest. “Oooh!” she shakes her fist at him. “Not. Funny.” But he catches the little uptick at the corner of her mouth. “Gara.” She utters shakily and again Solas puzzles over the way in which the Dalish have interpreted Elven.</p><p>“Ir abelas,” he fights to suppress his amusement, “I couldn’t resist.” By way of apology he crawls submissively toward her. Maera holds her ground and he nuzzles his damp nose against her fist. As she relaxes her hand he presses his head into her palm, rising to his full height. She lets out a high-pitched laugh of nervous excitement.</p><p>“My heart is still pounding,” she confesses breathlessly and gently runs her hand through his thick black fur. She fondles one soft, pointed ear, eliciting a whine of encouragement. She raises her other hand in a long stroke up his chest, bringing it to rest below his jaw. Solas gives her hand a gentle lick and she giggles with delight. Her hands weft through his fur, clever fingers intuiting exactly the right points to scratch. He sighs under her adept ministrations.</p><p>“You are so frightening,” her voice is tiny with awe, “and beautiful.” His wet muzzle presses against her neck and she shivers. She seems fully aware that his powerful jaws could take hold of her there, tearing the life from her in an instant. Though her eyes are wide he can see no fear, only rapt adoration and it sets fire to his blood. “It’s incredible that you can change forms like this.”</p><p>“We are in the Fade,” Solas remarks matter-of-factly. “This place is shaped by thoughts, ideas and dreams. Anything you can imagine you can will into being. You’ve done so before yourself.”</p><p>“Not consciously,” she frowns, doubting herself, “I don’t know.” She untangles her hands from his fur and steps back. Maera closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. Solas watches with pride as she shimmers and shifts into a sublime grey wolf.</p><p>He cannot contain his laughter now, as familiar mahogany eyes blink open in amazement and her maw splits; tongue lolling out in the most absurd expression of wolf-like joy. She squints in concentration and her tail jerks up and down, causing her ears to twitch with satisfaction.</p><p>Solas prowls in a circle studying her, then brushes alongside, nuzzling at the fur of her neck. Maera nibbles at his snout then darts away from him, tossing her head enticingly. She bows and dances playfully, inviting him to give chase. They bound through the forest, leaping over rocks and dashing amongst the trees.</p><p>He could have caught her easily, but he enjoys the pretence of the hunt. His savage jaws snap at her hind legs and she yips, tumbling unceremoniously into the dirt. With a groan she reverts to her previous form.</p><p>“I couldn’t hold it,” she says dejectedly, slapping dust from her clothes as she stands. Solas feels guilty for causing alarm and breaking her concentration.</p><p>“It’s alright,” he soothes, shifting into his own elven body once more. Taking hold of her shoulders he gives them a reassuring squeeze, “You surprise me endlessly.” Solas hooks a finger under her chin and gently lifts it. She melts into his kiss as he holds her face, grasping his elbows to steady herself. Every kiss with her feels like the first time, so full of passion and anticipation. For all that there was much he still did not know about her, in this she held nothing back. Solas had never known a lover as open and generous as she.</p><p>Maera sighs and lays her head against his shoulder. Her palms press flat against his chest as he closes his arms around her. She smells of leather and fur, layered over the subtle scent of earth and conifers. How one might expect the Huntress to smell he supposes. He feels a tremor in his stomach when she slowly moves against him. Her arms snake around his waist as she presses her torso along the length of his. His teeth ache with the urge to bite her, to mark her all over as his. He wants to taste her on his tongue.</p><p>“Fen’Harel,” she utters as a sudden afterthought and he freezes. “That demon called you Fen’Harel.” Maera lifts her head to look at his face. “The Trickster?” Solas’ heart sinks; he had hoped she hadn’t heard or perhaps did not know the name. He realises now what a futile hope that had been and braces himself for the inevitable.</p><p>“I am oft called that,” he confesses. “I am no innocent, but I am not the great deceiver the Dalish cast me as.” He adds tersely. Maera pulls away from him and he feels instantly chilled by her absence. Delicately she lowers herself onto a gnarled log that lay near his feet. If she is angry or upset he cannot say, but he can see her turning the revelation over in her mind. She absently strokes her lower lip with the side of her forefinger as she contemplates and then she scoffs lightly.</p><p>“Something amuses you?” he asks, sounding more acerbic than he would have liked.</p><p>“When I think about it now,” she says, fishing the wolf’s-head pendant from beneath her armour, “it seems quite obvious.”</p><p>“Much seems clear with the gift of hindsight,” he sounds flippant, but his words lay heavily upon him; the weight of ages, filled with solitude and regret. Solas turns his back to her, crossing his arms defensively.</p><p>“Tread lightly in the Fade, Da’len, for the Dread Wolf stalks the twisting paths. Maw dripping poison and his hunger boundless.” Maera recites the cautionary tale without inflection, but it stings him nonetheless. “I don’t even know who taught me this Dalish poem,” she muses.</p><p>“You have regrets,” he states despondently. How could she not? He knows what the Dalish think of him.</p><p>“Never. The Dalish legends do not reflect the man I know.” Her hand squeezes his shoulder as she steps around him. “Oh Solas, din nulam, ma vhenan.” Maera holds his face, echoing the gentle, reassuring touch he had used on her moments ago. Solas grasps her wrists, holding her still as he steps away from her, rejecting her embrace.</p><p>“You should,” he frowns. "If you knew what I had done, you would hate me.” Maera mirrors his frown, hurt and confused by his reaction.</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“I do, I’m sorry.” Solas puts more distance between them, holding his hands up to keep her at bay.</p><p>“Solas, stop,” she pleads. “Dirtha em banal’ra! Why are you pushing me away?”</p><p>“Because I cannot bear the thought of it, to have you look at me with hate in your eyes.” To hate him for all that had befallen Elves since the Veil had been raised. His actions had cut the Elves from the Fade, taking their magic and immortality; making them easy prey for humans. The Dalish were broken and scattered because of him. He felt such acute shame - it was monstrous when he stopped to think on it. That he has allowed her to love him, that he has selfishly taken such joy from her, when all the suffering in her life - he was the cause of it.</p><p>“You’re about to see it,” she retorts in exasperation. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t.” Her tone is forceful, bordering on anger. “But you don’t have to hide yourself away from me.”</p><p>“I must. If you knew-”</p><p>“I’m not talking about whatever it is you’ve done in the past,” she snaps. “I know you are holding back when we…” she gives him a pointed look and he bristles at the accusation. “I can tell. Like you think I will break.” Her expression softens as she tries to reach for him again. “But I won’t, Solas.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk about hiding,” he scowls and she is taken aback. “Who are <em>you</em>? Where do you come from?” Maera shakes her head, stepping back as he advances angrily on her. “The things I’ve seen you do are beyond the ability of a mere spirit. Yet you never need to wake. There has not been a Dreamer born in millennia that is capable of entering Uthenera. How do you explain it?”</p><p>“I can’t!” she cries, distressed and shaken by his sudden outburst. The air around her becomes charged as he touches on some truth she buries deep inside. The hypocrisy enrages him.</p><p>“Can’t, or won’t?” he accuses, pressing ahead before sense can give him pause. “How would you know what will break you? You said yourself, you cannot judge what you do not know. You know nothing, ignorant child,” he scoffs. Maera’s eyes narrow with anger at last, head rearing back as though he had physically slapped her. It has been some time since Solas has seen this look in her eyes; when a curtain seems to fall away to reveal a piercing awareness. It pains him to see the hurt and distrust; having now experienced her air of tender affection.</p><p>She <em>shouldn’t</em> love him though, he doesn’t deserve it. Wisdom had been right, he had allowed himself to forget who he was and what he had done to the world; to his people. Maera deserves better than he, even if she won’t admit it herself. Maera’s features smooth and then she looks away from him, conflicted.</p><p>“Not <em>now,</em>” she pleads to the invisible hand that compels her. Petty jealousy rears its head and Solas chooses to embrace it. That she could be distracted in the midst of this, to let her thoughts be drawn to a stranger over him, fills him with spiteful indignation. Maybe it’s better this way, she can return to her purpose and move on without him.</p><p><em>And he without her. </em>A part of him rebels even as he thinks it, decrying this insanity. But he lets his guilt and pain drown out the small voice of reason. “Go,” he says with finality as the doorway appears. He can see how she fights, trembling as she resists the urge to step into it. Maera’s face is stricken with such grief that he nearly falters.</p><p>“This isn’t finished, stay here, please?” she begs. He refuses to acknowledge her. “Please wait for me.” The door swallows her and he can feel his indignation dissipate with it.</p><p>Maera had tried to tell him - many times - that even she did not fathom the truth about herself. It angered him to think she was lying to him and in the past he had mistaken her reservation for guile. As he had come to know her better he realised there was always honesty in her expression. Why was it so hard for him to accept that what she claimed was true? Solas turns, striding away. He feels guilty, but he knows he might not have the strength to walk away once she returns.</p><p>If<em> she returns</em>, the little voice contests. So what if she doesn’t, isn’t that what he wants? His heart trembles, betraying him. Maera said she would come back, but she was hurt, emotional. When she calms down, what if she decides he isn’t worth it? She had been so accepting and he had thrown it back in her face. After what he had said to her, why would she return to him? It needed to be done though, she is better off without him.</p><p><em>There are worse things than Pride.</em> Solas’ steps falter as fear grips him with icy claws. What if something is waiting for her? Something stronger, more cunning than Pride? He was a fool, he was stubborn and selfish and he let her go - No - he had pushed her away and into untold danger. How could he let her go alone? He paces the grove, it feels an eternity since she had gone.</p><p>“I’m such an ass!” he admonishes himself, slapping his palm against his head. Solas calls her image to the forefront of his mind, focussing all of his being upon her. He hopes he will be able to come to her, to find her in the vastness of the Fade; that she will let him. Solas breathes in slowly, harnessing his willpower, when a portal flashes open behind him. He turns and the sight of her emerging from its radius steals the air from his lungs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Since the last chapter was only very short, decided to post a bonus update for this weekend :D</p><p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Da’len - little one<br/>Din nulam - No regrets<br/>Dirtha em banal’ra - Talk to me damn it<br/>Gara - To come, to enter. Adopted by younger Dalish as slang for ‘fuck’<br/>Ma vhenan - my heart, a term of endearment<br/>Ir abelas - I’m sorry<br/>Tel’gela em - Do not fear me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Search For The Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harding and Cassandra search for evidence of the Inquisitor on the mountain-side. Hardings thoughts drift, as she tries to reconcile the suspicions of the Inquisitor’s Council, with what she knows of the Herald.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harding squints as she scans the cragged peaks, the glare reflecting off the snow making her eyes tear up. In consultation with Seeker Pentaghast she has blocked out an area below Skyhold that they think it’s most likely a person - the Inquisitor - might land. Searching the main valley beneath the fortress had been the easy part. Now they were scaling the sheer mountain face, hunting through every ravine and crevasse. Leaving no stone unturned, as it were.</p><p>Beneath the voices of the scouts is the persistent clink of steel on stone as they anchor ropes to the mountainside. It was slow going, but Harding wasn’t about to lose a man to a fall now, not after all they had been through.</p><p>It was somewhat ironic that here she was - a surface-born dwarf - toiling away at a rock face with pickaxe in hand. Not quite the same as being a miner down in Orzammar, but the comparison made her smile. It was said the stone spoke to those deep-dwelling dwarves.</p><p><em>I will blind you and send you to your doom! </em>is what Harding fancies this mountain screams angrily; spitting razor shards at her as she hammers her pick against it for purchase. She slides down the rope and lands in the next ravine, picking her way along it carefully. They had heard crag wolves calling in the night, but fortunately had not had a run in with any yet.</p><p><em>That might make finding the Inquisitor’s remains difficult however.</em> Harding muses grimly, though she doesn’t want to believe they’ll find evidence of her here. The thought that the Inquisitor could be so depressed and hopeless unsettles Harding. It was the Inquisitor that taught her to remain positive in the face of despair. That together they had the power to change the world for the better.</p><p>Harding would never forget the Herald’s kindness those first few months after she joined the Inquisition. Charter had been a respectful mentor and appreciated her talents, so she was sent to Haven to assess her combat skills. It was a shock to a young girl that had never been beyond the Hinterlands. Harding had thought everyone in the Inquisition would be honourable and noble - a dashing hero like Commander Cullen. She was quickly proven wrong when the harassment began. They would corner her when alone, frequently during her evening meal at the Singing Maiden.</p><p>“<em>A little harmless fun,</em>” is what the ringleader, Lieutenant Beric labelled it. For some of the other recruits perhaps it was, but Harding could always sense the thread of disdain and hate in Beric’s words. The Templar had a cruel streak as wide as the Breach, but was too charming and cunning by far. He was careful to keep the worst of his malice for Harding’s ears alone. When they had learned her given name was Lace, she had wanted to curl up and die. Beric dubbed her Lacy Smalls and his torments quickly turned from blatantly racist to overtly sexual.</p><p>She hadn’t known what to do about it, other than keep her head down and endure in silence. She had no friends here, Charter and the other Scouts were always in the field. Back home she would have deterred the raucous village boys with a kick to the shins, but here there were rules about striking officers. If it came to blows it would be her word against Beric’s. She was just a backwoods recruit, while Beric was a veteran from Kirkwall with old ties to the Commander. Though Harding knew her silence confirmed their belief that she was weak prey, she hoped in time she would be returned to the Scouts and the matter would resolve itself.</p><p>Harding reaches the end of the ravine and stares up at the rock face. She readies her pick, hammering it at the unyielding stone as she begins her climb to the next outcropping. Driving home an anchor, she fastens her rope. She settles into a rhythm, hammering, climbing, inching slowly up and across. A smile curls across her lip when she thinks of how far she has come since those days. Lead Scout, a respected and integral member of the Inquisition and - she believes - a fair leader and inspiration to her subordinates. She does not know, or care, what has ultimately become of Templar Beric.</p><p>It had happened on one particularly harrowing evening. Harding never learned how she knew about it, but the Herald had quietly slipped into the tavern, to witness Beric's ‘fun<em>’</em>.</p><p>“<em>The knife-ear is here,” </em>Beric’s second, Templar Faris had whispered harshly when the Herald finally approached them.</p><p>“<em>Maybe I’ll find you later, Lacy.</em>” Beric’s slithering tongue brushed against her ear and a wave of nausea washed over her.She shrugged off his grasping hands as he and the others melted away - cowards all. Varric stood at the bar, arms crossed with a scowl on his face. Harding had felt terror then, the harassment would only get worse if they thought she had complained to someone.</p><p>“<em>Have a drink with me, Lace,</em>” the Herald had said as she steered her to the bar. A deep blush rose up Harding’s face and she groaned to hear the Herald use her given name. “<em>Sulahnean… ‘song-bird’,</em>” the Herald pointed at herself with a sympathetic laugh, “<em>is not particularly intimidating either.”</em></p><p><em>But you </em>are<em> intimidating</em>, Harding had thought.</p><p>“<em>Harding then</em>." The Herald said, as she clunked her mug against Harding’s. “<em>Charter says you’re the most daring scout she’s ever seen. I’m glad you’re with us.”</em></p><p>“<em>I’m sure she exaggerates.</em>” Harding had demurred and heard Varric’s quiet scoff from the other side of the Herald. She chanced a look up at the elf and found perceptive eyes quietly studying her. <em>Is she waiting for me to say something? </em>Harding had wondered anxiously.</p><p>“<em>Don’t underrate yourself, Harding. There are plenty of people more than happy to do it for you.</em>” The Herald’s amber eyes flashed angrily.</p><p>“<em>My Lady?</em>” Harding queried, worried she had offended her.</p><p>“<em>We’re women Harding</em>,” she stated plainly, “<em>they will always underestimate and de-value us. As an elf and a dwarf in this world, even more so.</em>” The Herald placed a warm hand on Harding’s arm. “<em>You have to know your own worth. Don’t let their ignorance and insecurity undermine it.</em>” Harding had not known how to respond, it was clear the Herald knew something of what she suffered. It was kind of her to offer advice and encouragement, but where she could return to the safety of the Chantry, Harding would be left to fend for herself.</p><p>“<em>I think you’re going to go far with the Inquisition, Harding.</em>” The Herald said as she finished up her drink. “<em>Just remember when you’ve made rank, to value the people under you too.</em>” Harding blinked as the Herald flashed her a brilliant smile and clapped her on the back as she left. Varric cracked his knuckles and gave Harding a wink as he fell in behind the Herald.</p><p>Harding had barely slept that night, perplexed by their conversation and terrified of what new torments awaited. The next morning she received a summons from Commander Cullen and her stomach turned somersaults.</p><p>“<em>Congratulations Harding</em>, <em>Charter has recommended you for a promotion. Where’d you learn to fight?</em>” Cullen asked admiringly.</p><p>“<em>Picked it up here and there.</em>” Harding shrugged and Cullen smiled warmly at her modesty. Harding wondered if the Herald had known this was coming and the Commander was watching her with such a curious expression, she didn’t know what to make of it.</p><p>“<em>You’ll be leading a small group of scouts to the Fallow Mire. Report to Harritt at the Smithy and he’ll get you properly outfitted.</em>” Cullen dismissed her with a nod.</p><p>“<em>Y-yes, Ser.</em>” She managed to stammer as she backed out of his tent. She hadn’t expected the promotion, but she was relieved by the news she would be returning to the wilds. As she neared the main gate she caught sight of Beric and Faris. The rush of panic made her stumble over her own feet, her new-found elation quickly dissipating.</p><p>Beric turned and his cold eyes locked on her. Harding gasped at the sight of him, his lip split and swollen, while a sling held his arm firm across his body. Faris turned too, barely able to see her through the purple, puffy flesh around his eye. It was only then she noticed the guards were barring their entry through the gate. Faris put a hand on Beric but the other Templar shrugged him off angrily and they stormed away from Haven.</p><p>“<em>If that isn’t just the most poetic shit I’ve ever seen.</em>” Harding jumped as Varric sidled up to her.</p><p>“<em>Did you…?</em>” Harding asked the dashing dwarf, as she looked back to the gate.</p><p>“<em>I didn’t do anything,</em>” Varric held up his hands. “<em>Sulahnean looks all sweet and mild, but she’s got a mean right hook. Turns out, bully Templars are a bit of a bugbear of hers. She told me she was going to give them a stern talking to and wanted back-up.</em></p><p><em>“It was all she could do really. Given she doesn’t have an official position, as far as chain-of-command is concerned, you see?</em>” Varric seemed apologetic and Harding still didn’t really understand what had happened. </p><p>“<em>Funny thing is, Faris decided to take a swing at the ‘knife-ear cunt’, just as Cassandra and Cullen happened to be coming back from drills. Pretty strange coincidence, right?</em>” Varric rubbed at the stubble on his jaw and chuckled, “<em>Beric was a sly piece of work, but he sure got out-played by the Herald.</em>” Harding’s eyes went wide as she realised what the Herald had done for her.</p><p><em>“Why would she endanger herself like that, why not just talk to Cullen directly?” </em>Harding asked, horrified by the thought of a mage picking a fight with seasoned Templars.</p><p><em>“Because neither you, or anyone else seemed to want to talk about it and I guess she’s still trying to figure out exactly how much authority she has around here. She didn’t trust the humans to just take her word for it.” </em>Varric shrugs<em>. </em></p><p>“<em>I thought Cullen was going to execute them on the spot, but she even had the grace to talk him down and let them get patched up. Curly gave them their marching orders this morning. Beric’s arm was the Seeker’s work, by the way. Maker, but she scares the shit out of me.</em>”</p><p>“You seem to be the only one enjoying yourself.” Harding almost yelps out loud as Cassandra’s voice drifts to her from above. She crawls up the last few feet and Cassandra reaches down to help her onto the ledge.</p><p>“Just remembering Templar Beric,” Harding explains. Cassandra makes a sound of disgust and shakes her head.</p><p>“I’m sorry, we didn’t realise how he had been treating you and the other recruits, that was not the Inquisition I had envisioned.” Harding starts at Cassandra’s apology. It was not something she ever expected or felt owed, but it was nice to have and she nods in acceptance.</p><p>“That’s the moment I should have realised we needed to appoint Lani as Inquisitor.” Cassandra laughs wryly. “I can’t believe it took us so long to figure out how worthy she was.” Cassandra looks wistfully over the mountains.</p><p>“The Inquisitor was always kind to me. I mean, it felt like she made the effort to be, when she didn’t even need to acknowledge me.” Harding wanted to bite back her words. The Seeker had never really spoken to her outside of work and she didn’t want her to think she was criticising her. “Not that I <em>expect</em> my superiors to carve out time for me, busy as they are. But the Inquisitor seemed to make everyone’s problems her own, or am I wrong?” Cassandra settles down on the ledge beside her, long legs dangling in the air.</p><p>“No Harding, you are not wrong.” Cassandra answers with a gentleness Harding has not heard before. “She was - <em>is,” </em>Cassandra corrects herself, “like that with everyone. I do not know if it was an impulse she developed as First of her clan, or if she was simply born to it. The first time I spoke with her, I threatened to execute her.” Harding’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief and Cassandra nods in earnest. “I was angry, frightened and she was so patient with me. Gentle even.” Cassandra wrings her hands as she speaks, surprising Harding. She has never known the Seeker to be vulnerable or uncertain.</p><p>“Thinking back, she must have been equally confused and frightened, if not more so. But she never rebuked me, or called me out for being wrong when the truth came to light. I suppose it was just her nature. We were so blessed that she was the one that bore the Anchor. I dread to think how things might be different, had someone else come upon Corypheus that day.”</p><p>Harding thinks back to the strife that had overwhelmed her home in the Hinterlands. When she passes through her old community now and sees it thriving again, it fills her with pride. In herself, in the Inquisition she had joined. They all played a part but she knew, the Inquisitor had been the steady driving force behind it all. Their inspiration.</p><p>“I don’t want to believe it.” Harding confesses. “It just doesn’t seem fair, after everything she has done. All she has given.” Harding recalls the truths they had uncovered about Inquisitor Ameridan. How his actions, his sacrifice - even his race and ideals - had been erased by the Chantry. She thinks of the tragic death of his dear friends and his lover, Telana - pining away for him, alone on a forgotten island. The thought that after everything, such tragedy is all that awaits Inquisitor Lavellan is enough to make her weep.</p><p>“She deserves a happy ending.” Harding chokes out, her voice thick with emotion.</p><p>“Ah…” The Seeker remarks, her stern face softening. “You’re a romantic.” Harding blushes and a deep sadness creeps over Cassandra’s features. “I do not know that a happy ending is something she is destined to find.” Cassandra rises then to her full, imposing height. “But I can tell you what we will not find here, Harding.” She declares and Harding lets the conviction in her voice chase away her fears. “We will not find <em>her</em>.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Indomitable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>NSFW</p><p>Maera contemplates what it is that she desires and realises that she will not be pushed away, she will take what she wants.</p><p>POV swap from Maera to Solas part way through the chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maera channels her rage and pain into every lunge of her blade - into each battle cry that comes charging from her throat. She tears apart the demons with such violence that when she is done, the mage she had come to rescue scurries away from her in terror, screaming.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she snarls and walks away from him. She stabs her longsword into the ground and lies on her back beside it, wrists crossing over her forehead. The nightmare Harrowing dissolves and she is left in the raw Fade; staring up at a turbulent, viridian expanse. Hot tears stream down, pooling in her ears and she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand in frustration.</p><p><em>I’m not supposed to feel sorrow</em>. She <em>knows</em> this to be true, though she doesn’t understand why. Nor does she understand what just happened. Solas had gone from being so loving - so tender - to cold and cruel in the blink of an eye. Had she said the wrong thing?</p><p>What a pair they make. She - unknown to herself and he - trying to forget his dark past. Is that why he lashed out, does he resent her - envy her in some way? Because she is free of such burdens. He does not understand how unsettling it is. He has helped her to understand that she is in the Fade, a realm of dreams and magic. With that understanding comes the knowledge that she does not naturally belong here. It is a place populated by spirits and demons, she does not believe she is either of those things. It follows then that she is a Dreamer, which means she sleeps somewhere in the physical world. But then, who is she, where is she? Why does she not wake?</p><p>Why this disparity between what she knows and does not? She knows of Fen’Harel and has information about all manner of topics. But what she desires most, what she seeks to understand eludes her. Her mind becomes slippery and if she tries too hard the effort becomes painful. Or rather, she is met with pain. </p><p>She tried so hard to reconcile what she knows of Fen’Harel, with what she knows of Solas. From her perspective it seemed impossible they could be one and the same, yet he had not denied it. If he existed, then did not the Creators also? It followed then, that there must be some truth to the tales that he had tricked their Gods, trapping them all in the Fade and snaring himself in the process. But what he had shown her in the Fade implied that Elvhenan had fallen for other reasons. That its people brought about their own ruin.</p><p>He felt responsible, that was clear, but perhaps more had been attributed to him than he deserved. She empathised with him, it must hurt to be seen as a monster. She had not judged him, or admonished him, yet still he had pulled away from her.</p><p>He believed himself so terrible that she would hate him, but truly bad people didn’t carry such guilt, such self-loathing. Did they? Before now he had expressed no malice toward her, but had been eager to impress - to instruct her - with warmth and charm. True he had at times been argumentative and openly disdainful of the Dalish, but he was hardly the slavering, mad trickster of legend.</p><p>Maybe he was right though, if he could cast her aside so callously perhaps he didn’t deserve her. Why did she want to be with him anyway, was she just being stubborn, what was she trying to prove?</p><p>But she felt it, the tugging deep inside her. The need to find him again, to be close to him. The idea of never seeing him again makes her insides twist; she can’t deny the feelings he evokes. Thinking of him, underneath all the hurt and anger, elicits such a depth of emotion - love, desire, longing - it is almost too much to bear. What she feels seems aged, as though it existed long before she can even remember - as though they have always been a part of each other.</p><p>It is more than just gratefulness for having awakened her. Bringing her to life when before she was a half-person, moving through the Fade without thought or feeling. What else lay within? The battle with Pride had rattled her. She could feel something lurking inside, hurt and thrashing, like a wounded animal. The demon had tried to draw it out of her and it - the lurker - had unleashed it’s fury upon Pride. Not Maera, she had not been in control.</p><p>Who was she and what was actually hers? Not her name. Not her purpose. She pitied the mages certainly, but it was clear now she was being compelled to help them. Even her body. She could feel it when she shape-shifted, fighting against her efforts to be different.</p><p><em>To be anything other than this</em>, her hands clap against her breastplate and she feels the crystal pendant press cold and hard against her skin. The memories that arise when she thinks of it, make her blush and ache and want to laugh and cry all at once. She wonders if that was his intention all along.</p><p><em>Well of course it was, that’s the point of gifts between lovers; to remind. </em>The resentment she feels with this realisation is both her own and yet not. In the same way her initial mistrust of Solas had felt instinctive, but also <em>beyond</em> her. It turns out those suspicions were uncannily accurate, but how had she known?<em>Still so many questions</em>. She doubts she can find the answers on her own. How then to resolve this rift Solas has opened between them?</p><p>“<em>He’s</em> the stubborn one,” she huffs as she sits up. So he wants to be a martyr, just because he feels - what? Ashamed of what he has done? His ego bruised by Dalish stories? That doesn't give him the right to decide for her.</p><p><em>Maera will choose. Maera will decide</em>. She has to let him know that she accepts him completely - light and dark - she wants all of him. That she will not allow him to sabotage their relationship by being an absolute <em>felasil</em>. Maera smirks wickedly as a plan formulates. She just hopes he is still waiting for her.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Solas gapes, his brain scrambling to process the sensory overload she is triggering. Relief suffuses his body - she was safe; she had returned to him. Hard on it’s heels comes a wave of heat. A feverish hunger that unspools from deep in his stomach and races through every nerve in his body.</p><p>Maera stands proudly before him, Spring personified, the earth mother - lush and fertile. A sultry nymph, curves draped in a gossamer wrap that leaves little to the imagination. His gaze roams over her, following the ebb and flow of her slender silhouette. Her hungry eyes capture his as she prowls toward him. She <em>is</em> the Huntress and she has honed in on him - her prey. Solas’ mouth is dry, but there is much he needs to say.</p><p>“Maera, I-”</p><p>“Tel’dirtha.” She presses a finger - as firm as her reprimand - to his lips. “Sit,” she commands and he does. Maera sweeps down to straddle his lap and when he tries to put his hands on her she grasps his forearms. “No,” she admonishes with the slightest hint of anger. “You don’t get to touch,” she purrs.</p><p>His heart thumps against his ribs. She had shown hints of assertiveness before, but nothing as exciting as this bold dominance. She holds his arms tightly against his sides and he shivers as she licks and nibbles the sensitive plane of his ear. She smells different, a subtle mix of lemon and herbs, with an undercurrent of something sweet, like vanilla. His nostrils flare, drawing the intoxicating scent deep into his body. Maera gives his arms a firm squeeze.</p><p>“Stay,” she reminds him as her hands glide up his biceps. They pause to knead his shoulders before she dips one inside his collar. Her mouth works along his jaw and down his neck, parting his robe to give her access. Fingers stroke up the back of his neck to grasp the base of his skull and he leans into her firm grip. Maera nuzzles her way back up until her intense russet gaze aligns with his.</p><p>“You are <em>mine</em>,” she says vehemently. He wants to give all of himself to her, but she doesn’t know what she is asking. She doesn’t know the terrible things he is capable of. “Don’t,” she warns softly, as she catches him drifting away on an ocean of doubt. “This here, <em>this</em> Solas,” she places her hand over his heart. “As we are now, this is all that matters. This is enough, isn’t it?” Maera’s voice trembles at the end and when he recalls what he said to her in anger, his heart breaks.</p><p><em>“Who are </em>you<em>?” </em>Solas realises he’s not the only one looking for acceptance. He wants to take her in his arms, to soothe away the hurt in her eyes. Make her forget everything else but the fact that he loves her, with all his heart and soul. But she has made it clear that she wants to be in control. If she needs to claim him, he will happily oblige and he nods in assent.</p><p>“Good boy,” she coos archly.</p><p><em>Sit… stay… is she?</em> Solas blinks in astonishment. <em>The</em> cheek <em>of this woman! </em>Even his enemies never dared speak to him in such a degrading fashion. The novelty of it is such a thrill, it is almost enough to let it pass unpunished. <em>Almost, </em>he thinks as he muses over all manner of appropriate responses. <em>Later</em>, he smirks with dark anticipation. <em>Let her think she has me tamed.</em></p><p>Maera kisses his mouth then, soft and slow. Savouring his lips with her own, delicately tasting with little swipes of her tongue. If he tries to press forward and assert himself she draws back - denying him - before returning to the same gentle exploration. The little sighs she makes send tingles dancing along his scalp. It is both the most exquisite and most agonising kiss he has ever experienced.</p><p>“Give me your tongue,” she pants, nose pressing against his. Solas pushes his tongue out and she takes it greedily with her mouth, her own tongue swirling around his. When she sucks on it - hard - he grunts at the corresponding twitch in his trousers. Maera pulls back to look at him, her skin flushed pink, teeth biting her kiss-swollen lower lip.</p><p>“Take off your,” with a blink they are gone, “clothes…” Maera’s mouth twists, trying to rein in an amused grin. She looks quite pleased with herself. He leans forward, his nose pushing aside the wolf’s-head pendant that still lies nestled between her breasts. She gasps as he mouths hot kisses against her soft flesh, teeth grazing a nipple through the sheer fabric.</p><p>“Tsk, so naughty,” she admonishes with feigned outrage. She presses her fingers against his chest, pushing him back to lay on the grass. It is cool against the prickling heat of his skin. Maera tugs on the wrap, letting it slide down her body to pool on her thighs. He breathes hard, watching the way it caresses her skin as it falls, wishing it was his hands. She rises up on her knees, towering over him - a goddess. Her hands tangle in her own hair as her head rolls back, shamelessly baring herself to him. She brushes down over her neck, cupping her breasts and palming her pert nipples.</p><p>“Is this what you want?” She taunts him, husky voice making him throb painfully. Solas grits his teeth, fingers clawing trenches in the ground as he desperately fights the need to put them on her.</p><p>She looks down at his erection as she touches herself, the effect she is having on him obvious. Maera bares her teeth, tongue flicking over them as she pinches her nipples. Her eyes never leave his face, simmering with smug desire, completely aware of the power she has. One of her hands falls lower, to dip into the apex between her legs and she sighs as she strokes her entrance. She raises glistening fingers to her face and her long, pink tongue laves a slow stroke up one of her digits. His hips jerk, self-control eroding away against the relentless tide of his lust and she quirks an eyebrow at him. Maera leans forward, pressing her wet fingers to his lips and he greedily sucks them into his mouth, moaning at the taste of her. She grazes her breasts over his chest and he nips her fingers in desperation, drawing a sultry chuckle from her.</p><p>“Keep your hands off.” She reminds him and he nods, dazed with desire. He would do anything she demands. She gracefully reverses her position and he emits a tortured groan with the effort it takes to keep his hands off her ass. His mouth waters in anticipation as the smell of her arousal washes over him. He cranes his neck, hungrily burying his face in her slick folds before she has finished settling over him.</p><p>“Ah!” Her breath catches in her throat as his agile tongue lavishes her with zealous praise. The carnal sounds she makes spur him on, trying to identify the motions that will best draw them from her. She bends over him, silken hair tickling his thighs. He feels her hot breath on him - teasing him - and he sucks hard on her sensitive flesh. She cries out in ecstasy and then her mouth is upon him. Solas bucks again as she devours him, hot, wet and eager.</p><p>Her tongue rasps and swirls along the length of him as she bobs her head. Maera draws the entirety of him in, til he is pressing deep into her throat and he groans against her sex. She moans in response and stars burst behind his eyes as an aching tightness builds in his loins. His own tongue is merciless and she pulls away from him with an ardent cry. He snarls savagely at her sudden withdrawal.</p><p>“I need you,” she utters, voice thick and breathy with desire as she turns once again to face him. Taking him with a firm hand, Maera lowers herself onto him, agonisingly slow and clenching around him with a wanton moan. Her mouth hangs open, panting and mewling as she grinds on him; hands sliding all over body, grasping at her soft skin. Frenzied, they tear through her hair, her back arching in exquisite torment.</p><p>Solas nearly loses himself at the spectacle of her, so rapturous and wild from the sensation of him pressing deep into her. Solas bucks against her, unable to hold back any longer and she makes to draw away from him again. His hands clamp onto her hips, vice-like fingers pulling her back. She puts her hands on his waist, pressing her full weight down to hold him at bay. He growls with frustration.</p><p>“Maera…” he pleads, his voice choking and broken as he trembles beneath her. She smirks in triumph and rolls her hips, dropping on him til he hammers against her womb.</p><p>“Solas,” she moans and rolls again. She takes her hands from his waist, setting him free as she grasps his shoulders for leverage. He rages beneath her, pulling her hips down against him as he thrusts up again and again. With a ragged moan and one last great heave he explodes inside her, unable to contain himself after being on edge so long. Still shuddering, he flips her onto her back before she can protest. He dives between her legs, holding her thighs against his shoulders. He laps at her quivering entrance, tasting himself on her. Nimble fingers stroke inside her, hunting for her most secret pleasure centre. A desperate gasp escapes her, as he latches onto her sensitive bud with his mouth. Nibbling, sucking, lashing it with his tongue until she is thrashing and calling his name in one long, plaintive cry.</p><p>Maera collapses on the grass, boneless and panting. He crawls up her body, trailing kisses along her skin; hands finally laying claim to her and she squirms delightfully in response to his touch. He presses over her, probing her mouth with his tongue. He is hard again and she whimpers into his mouth as he pushes inside her. Solas moves slowly at first, gauging her sensitivity as she wraps her legs around him.</p><p>“Ma sa’lath,” she keens as she writhes beneath him, grass and leaves tangling in her hair. When she bites his neck he growls and thrusts into her with wild abandon. Any fears he had about hurting her were ill-founded as she clutches at him, begging mindlessly for more.</p><p>Her nails rake across him, as her heels dig into his buttocks, thrusting her hips up to crash against his. She quivers and tightens around him and he is lost again, collapsing onto her thoroughly spent. She strokes his sweat-slick back, her legs trembling as she unwinds them to lay limp on the ground. He kisses her again, feverishly moving from her mouth, down her neck, to her breasts and back again. He cannot kiss her enough, he wants to lose himself in her forever.</p><p>“I won’t hold back any more.” Solas promises when his breathing has calmed and Maera makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat.</p><p>“Good, apology accepted.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Felasil - Fool<br/>Ma sa’lath - My one love<br/>Tel’dirtha - Don’t speak</p><p>A/N - I have only been including translation of new words/phrases as they occur, because I thought it might be too cumbersome to include all translations that have already occurred in previous chapters. But would it be more helpful for you all to have translations of all Elvish words that appear in each chapter?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Bait And Switch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cullen runs himself ragged, trying to keep his mind busy and the Scouts return from their search.</p>
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    <p>Cullen ducks, dodging aside as Blackwall’s practice sword whistles over his head. His own waster jabs up sharply and Blackwall scurries back, faster on his feet than one might expect for a man his size. They pause, studying each other as they settle into guard positions.</p>
<p>It is hot in the sun today, so Cullen had forgone his heavy plate armour, wearing only a loose shirt instead. Even so, he is flushed with exertion and he blows up into his face to dislodge the hair that sticks uncomfortably to his brow. Four days it has been since Cassandra left with the Scouts. Four long, agonising days of trying to keep his mind busy and his body exhausted, else he would not get a wink of sleep at night; lying in the dark with all the worst images his mind can conjure.</p>
<p>“<em>You’re keen for more punishment.</em>” Bull had said when he’d approached him for another round of sparring on the second day.</p>
<p><em>“Just trying to keep sharp.”</em> Cullen had lied, unable to share with him the real reason for his agitation. Blackwall had joined them on the third day, always ready for a sword match.</p>
<p><em>“Honestly getting a bit restless with no demons to fight.” </em>The former Chevalier had grumbled.</p>
<p><em>“Hrrrn, thought our Lady Ambassador was keeping you busy, Rainier?”</em> Bull needled and Blackwall bristled.</p>
<p><em>“I’ll ask you to keep a civil tongue when you talk about Josephine,” </em>he warned the Qunari and Bull chortled.</p>
<p><em>“He’s all yours, Commander.” </em>Bull waved his hands dismissively as he bowed out of their planned match. <em>“You’ve both got some issues to work out.”</em></p>
<p>Now Blackwall comes at him again, feinting at his neck and their swords clash as Cullen anticipates the sudden thrust down toward his thigh.</p>
<p>“There’s a very pretty girl in the kitchens who’d be happy to spar with you too, Commander.” Bull suggests, looking quite comfortable as he lounges on the grass in the shade. Cullen grits his teeth and ignores Bull’s taunts. The last thing Cullen is looking for is an ill-advised dalliance with some girl infatuated with his rank.</p>
<p>It is not just the heat of the day or the physical exertion that makes Cullen flushed. A small posse of spectators has gathered together, watching from a discreet distance. They whisper and giggle amongst themselves as the warriors spar. Their attention is embarrassment enough, without Bull’s crude barbs. Cullen has had to spend far too much of his precious time at Skyhold actively discouraging the attentions of the female population and now Bull was riling them up again.</p>
<p>“No?” Bull asks, as Blackwall and Cullen dance around each other, exchanging a flurry of blows. “Thought you had a bit of a thing for them pointy ears,” Bull prods. The mercenary liked to make a show of being a big oaf, but he was too damn perceptive for Cullen’s liking. It is as incisive a blow as the taunt at Blackwall about Josephine. Cullen’s body tenses with anger and indignation, his focus thrown.</p>
<p>Blackwall sees the opportunity as he parries, closing in past Cullen’s guard. He wraps his free arm around Cullen’s, locking his sword and kicks Cullen’s heels out from under him. Cullen hits the ground hard, the air blasting out of his lungs on impact.</p>
<p>“Where’s your head today, Commander?” Blackwall chides, panting as he helps Cullen back to his feet. Cullen leans on his waster and waves away Blackwall’s concern. Blackwall steps out of the training circle to join Bull in the shade.</p>
<p>“Your turn, Bull. These old bones need a rest.” The gruff warrior plonks down on the grass beside Bull, wiping the sweat from his brow. Bull offers him a drink from the tankard he has been nursing and Blackwall waves it away; face contorting at the acrid smell of it. Cullen straightens with a groan, his body protesting the torture he is putting it through.</p>
<p>He hobbles to a nearby rain barrel and dips a bucket inside, scooping up the water. He upends it over his head, the cool water providing sweet relief as it splashes over his face and neck, trickling down his torso. Cullen flicks the water from his hair and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt. Ignoring the twittering gasps from his audience, he rubs his hands against his trousers, trying to dry the slick mix of water and sweat. Cullen readies his practice blade as he steps back into the training circle and waves Bull over.</p>
<p>“Nah, I’m exhausted just looking at you.” Bull remarks. “Gotta be a better way to work your stress out, Cullen. Or is that not a form of <em>beating</em> the Chantry approves of?”</p>
<p>“Ugh, Maker give me strength.” Cullen mutters in quiet exasperation. Bull snickers and turns to Blackwall.</p>
<p>“What’s the Warden- sorry, my mistake… the Chevalier stance on polishing your blade?”</p>
<p>“Nothing worse than a rusty blade.” Blackwall retorts, earning a hearty guffaw from Bull. A commotion begins at the Main Gate and the three seasoned fighters start, their senses honed to anticipate trouble.</p>
<p>“The Scouts have returned.” They hear a guardsman remark, watching from the overlook near the Inn. Bull and Blackwall relax when they realise there is no immediate threat but Cullen turns, haphazardly tossing his practice blade onto the arms rack.</p>
<p>“To the Kitchens!” Bull hollers after him, as Cullen strides down the stairs toward the main courtyard.</p>
<p>A crowd is growing, watching the Scouts’ return with interest. They chatter amongst themselves, speculating as to what has been brought back in the wagon parked beneath the far wall. Harding dismisses her team as Cullen reaches the bottom of the stairs and they peel away, seeking well earned rest. One of the scouts brushes past him, bounding up the stairs toward the Keep. Harding joins Cassandra, where the Seeker stands guard by the wagon. Cullen spies the ominous pile in the back of it, covered over with a sheet of burlap.</p>
<p>The whole world tilts and his vision narrows, tunnel-like focus closing in til all he can see is that ragged lump. All sound fades away as he rapidly approaches it, though he is not conscious of his legs moving.</p>
<p><em>Lani… Maker no… no, no. </em>He hits a wall, a force is keeping him from her and he wrestles with the obstacle. He hears something, muffled and unintelligible, but it registers somewhere in his brain, bringing him back to his senses.</p>
<p>“It’s not her.” Cassandra is holding him at bay. “It’s not her, Cullen.” She repeats firmly and he blinks at her, slowly processing her words. He shudders, his relief overwhelming him as a strangled cry escapes his throat. Harding is watching him with wide-eyed shock and he covers his face with his hand, fighting to compose himself. Cassandra steps beside him, hiding him from the crowd that still stands gawking.</p>
<p>“Who?” Cullen grates out, his tremors slowly dissipating as he gets a grip on himself.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure who they are, I’m hoping Leliana or Josephine might be able to identify them.” Cassandra squeezes his arm and steps away.</p>
<p>“Thank the Maker,” he exhales.</p>
<p>“Everyone please, return to your business. Let’s have some respect for the dead.” Cassandra instructs the curious onlookers and they disperse slowly.</p>
<p>Dorian suddenly bursts from the Rotunda entrance and falters, paralysed on the walkway as he spies the wagon. The mage turns ashen, his eyes frantic and he raises his fist to his mouth, biting down to silence a cry of horror. Cassandra waves her arms to get his attention and she shakes her head - <em>No</em>. When Dorian sees her he clutches his chest and falls to his knees in relief. Cullen wonders if he looked that crushed mere moments ago and is relieved he isn’t the only one making a spectacle of himself.</p>
<p>Josephine and Leliana have come down with Harding’s messenger and approach the wagon. Their faces are grim as they stand beside the cart. Cassandra discreetly lifts the burlap so they can inspect the contents.</p>
<p>“Oh…” Josephine turns away quickly, overwhelmed by the sight of the broken corpses. A man and a woman from what Cullen can make out. The man appears to be missing his trousers and the rest of their clothes are torn - either by the mountain or animals he cannot say - but they look to have been quite fine. Leliana’s face is neutral except for a single quirked eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Well, that solves that mystery,” she muses. “Lord Valery and Marquise Lysette, their servants were trying to keep it quiet.” Josephine gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “They assumed they ran off together for a brief dalliance and hoped they would return home in short order with no-one the wiser.”</p>
<p>“How tragic,” Josephine murmurs sadly.</p>
<p>“Maker’s breath,” Cullen exclaims. “What do we tell their families? Won't they blame us for allowing them to fall drunk from the parapets?”</p>
<p>“Not if they want to keep the affair quiet.” Leliana nods toward the wagon. “Quite the scandal.”</p>
<p>“The good news is, we found no evidence of the Inquisitor,” Harding interjects.</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you, Harding. We appreciate your discretion in that regard. Can you find someone to prepare these remains to be returned to their families?” Leliana asks and Harding nods, departing.</p>
<p>“So, what’s next?” Cullen asks.</p>
<p>“Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private.” Josephine suggests as she looks around the open Courtyard.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry but, I think people might suspect something is wrong after my… um…” Cullen didn’t quite know how to describe his behaviour. Josephine and Leliana look at him curiously, questioning what exactly he means.</p>
<p>“It’s alright Cullen, I can’t imagine any of us not being equally devastated if we thought Lani were under here.” Cullen knows Cassandra is trying to be kind, but he winces at her choice of words, deeply embarrassed.</p>
<p>“I doubt we will be able to keep it a secret for much longer in any case.” Josephine allows. “Shall we then?” She sweeps her hand toward the Keep and the four of them make their way to the War Room.</p>
<p><em>Council Room</em>, Cullen corrects himself, as Leliana insists they now refer to it. The war was over after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. River Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>NSFW</p><p>Blight rages through Ferelden as the archdemon, Urthemiel rallies the darkspawn horde. The darkness it reflects in the Fade, makes it a dangerous realm for spirit and Dreamer alike.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N - Happy New Year all! I wanted to publish this New Year's day, but foolishly started to do revisions. Hopefully the new version is worth the wait and I shall endeavour to return to a weekly update schedule now that the holidays have passed.</p><p> </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no true exhaustion in the Fade, that was a constraint of the physical world. Here they were free to love endlessly if they desired. Languid explorations of pleasure, fiery dalliances with pain and all stages in between were theirs to share. Occasionally they would come up for air, drifting together through the Fade. Either seeking out new places or Solas bringing her to more special memories he had found. He revelled in her enthusiasm, her unquenchable curiosity and joy in discovery.</p><p>Their journeys through these places were like a dance, as they moved apart from each other to explore, only to be inexorably drawn back together. They would linger a moment - sharing a touch, a kiss - before drifting apart again. Oft-times they would collide with raw passion, hungry and burning for one another. Whatever form it took, the memory of their ardor was now etched bright in those ancient places.</p><p>In their little bubble of ecstasy they did not at first notice the shadow creeping over the Fade. The dreams of mortals turned fearful and haunted as Blight ravaged across Thedas. The terror and suffering fed the darker creatures of this realm, increasing their strength and numbers. Maera’s call to Harrowings became more frequent - more urgent - as demons sought to break through the Veil. They longed to feed on the base evils that awaited them on the other side, as violence and desperation drew out the worst in humanity.</p><p>“It’s getting worse,” Maera laments after a particularly difficult battle. “If you hadn’t been here-” she swallows hard.</p><p>“But I was, I am,” Solas crushes her against him. “I won’t leave you alone ever again,” he promises. “This will pass in time, it always does, we just need to be patient.” Maera smiles with relief at his assurance. Solas does not voice his own concerns, about the escalating changes he has observed in her. She is more withdrawn, which he can understand given the strain she is under protecting mages. But it seems deeper than that, as though she is haunted too.</p><p>Often he catches her gazing out into the Fade, always to the same point on the horizon. When she notices him watching her in these moments she gives him a cheerful smile and pretends it is nothing. Solas does not want to press the issue - he wants her to confide in him of her own volition. There is only so much of her suffering he can take in silence however.</p><p>The next time he finds her staring to the horizon he creeps up beside her, taking her hand. Maera starts slightly at his touch, but turns to him with a welcoming expression.</p><p>“What troubles you, vhenan?” He asks and she ducks her head, happy mask slipping. Solas gives her hand a squeeze and clambers up onto the little bank overlooking the Minanter River. He watches the muddy green water idle by, the song of cicada’s heavy in the warm air. Maera turns his hand over, tracing slow patterns across his palm.</p><p>“It calls to me,” she answers cryptically. “I can feel it becoming more urgent.” Solas wants to ask what she hears when suddenly her hand clamps, vice-like around his. “Stay with me,” she pleads, trembling.</p><p>“Vhenan…” he whispers, putting his free hand to her cheek, turning her toward him. Her eyes dart everywhere but at him, ashamed in her terror. “Look at me, Maera.” He urges and she does, unable to resist him. Her eyes glisten with budding tears, but as he holds her gaze her trembling subsides. “I am here ma sa’lath.” Maera throws her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.</p><p>He wants to chastise her as she rolls against him, trying to distract him, but her flickering kisses succeed in their aim. Her breath hitches in excitement as her hands roam across his back and his own body begins to respond to her proximity.</p><p>Solas fists his hand in the hair at the base of her skull and pulls her head back, drawing it away from him. She arches, trying to keep as much of herself pressed against him as she can. He loves the sight of her like this, her body offered in supplication as her eyes flutter closed. He kisses up her throat and presses his nose against the juncture of her ear, jaw and neck; inhaling her scent.</p><p>Maera’s hands paw at him, trying to draw him closer but he holds her prone. He knows how much she enjoys the sweet torture of delayed gratification. He presses his thigh between her legs, nudging firmly to spark her arousal, then pulls just out of reach as she attempts to grind against him. Her armour vanishes and he groans audibly at the bare sight of her. She smirks, pleased by his eager response and he runs his fingers down her breastbone; skimming over the wolf’s-head pendant that never leaves her. She strains against his hold, clearly craving his touch.</p><p>“Trying to change the subject, hmm?” he murmurs, his tongue following the path of his fingers. She grasps his head, trying to direct him toward her breast. “No, no,” he admonishes, pulling away. “I thought we had agreed not to hold back, you broke our promise.” Maera opens her mouth to speak and he silences her with a kiss. He holds her lips with his, as he pushes her down, turning her onto her stomach and raising her hips up toward him.</p><p>“Good girl.” Solas murmurs, running his hands over the delicious curve of her ass. She glances lazily over her shoulder at him, as though she has quite forgotten the implication of those words. Solas slides one arm under her waist to brace her. Along the bank, trees burst into vibrant colour; red, gold and brown, turning to Fall. The calm waters begin to splash and churn with the bodies of salmon, casting themselves upriver to spawn.</p><p>
  <strong>CRACK!</strong>
</p><p>The sound of his firm hand striking her soft flesh rings out across the river. She cries out at the impact and he holds her firmly in place.</p><p>“You thought you could command <em>me</em> like a dog and not suffer consequences?” Solas chides. He had meant for it to be a playful admonishment, but the tremor of indignation that surges through him is unexpected. Even more surprising, Maera presses against his stinging palm, inviting further punishment.</p><p>Solas obliges with a barrage of quick, sharp strikes, his cock twitching at every beautiful cry he draws from her. He halts the action, sliding his hand lower to tickle across her inner thighs. His fingers brush along the outside of her sex and she twitches with anticipation. He spreads her lips and continues his slow caresses along them. Solas takes great care to not touch her more sensitive areas as she grinds against his hand, chasing his tormenting fingers. He presses one fingertip just out of reach of her sensitive clit, massaging the flesh there and Maera grunts with dissatisfaction.</p><p>“Does this not please you, vhenan?” He asks with mock sincerity, amused by her obvious frustration. Her eyes flash defiantly, not so easily cowed by him.</p><p>“Solas…” she purrs seductively, trying to rise up and face him. He pushes her back down.</p><p>“<em>Stay</em>.” He commands and she pauses for a beat, strategising.</p><p>“Don’t you want me?” Maera taunts him, body writhing sensuously as she presses against his hand where it rests on her behind. “I want you.” She runs one hand down her body, attempting to touch herself and Solas grasps it, twisting it firmly behind her back. She continues undeterred, “I want you to fuck my mouth with your beautiful cock. Please, won’t you cum on my face?” She mewls and Solas finds himself hard pressed to deny her. He wonders how far she would debase herself, just to make him capitulate.</p><p><em>Another time perhaps</em>. He cannot deny that her defiance is part of what makes her so alluring, but right now he wants her to submit. To express the same desperate, begging need that she had previously drawn from him.</p><p>“So many transgressions, whatever shall I do with you?” He runs a hand along the underside of her breast and down her ribs. Maera groans in torment at the teasing contact.</p><p>“Fen’Harel, athim’gera min dru’dun.” She replies and Solas grits his teeth, his erection throbbing. It sounds like submission, but he knows she still thinks she is in control.</p><p>“Such pretty words.” He muses. “But how can you give me that which I already own?” Possessively he squeezes the flesh beneath his hands and she shivers then, thighs rubbing together in fraught need. Solas smirks, “You shall simply have to accept punishment for your defiance.” He releases her trapped arm and she braces herself as he spanks her relentlessly.</p><p>“Please…” Maera begs breathlessly at length, her body shaking. “Take what is yours, use me as you will.”</p><p><em>It’s a start</em>, Solas gently caresses her bright red bottom, admiring his handiwork. She whimpers, still pressing into his touch, though it must sting by now. He does not know why she resists his control so much. When she had come to him in the glade he had capitulated eagerly. Though she had not asked anything of him that he did not want, he had readily given her his trust; his obedience. Solas had gladly done so many times since and would do so again in a heartbeat.</p><p>It had not bothered him at first, distracted as he was by her eager passion. Slowly though it began to gnaw at him, especially given her past accusations that he held himself back from her. It was not her submission he truly cared about - indeed he loved her fierce spirit. What hurt him was the sense that even now, she did not trust him. That she continued to hold herself back from him. Maera has become more adept at hiding it, but still she maintains an impenetrable barrier between them. Solas leans into her, his tongue scouring across her tender flesh.</p><p>“Oooh, Siu’Fen,” she moans and he bites her, growling playfully. Solas fills his hands with her cheeks and probes her tight little hole with his tongue. She emits a little gasp of surprise and leans back against his questing mouth. As he nibbles and licks he reaches down, running a fingertip around her entrance. Maera’s breath catches in her throat at the contact, only to be expelled in a frantic sob as he draws his hand away again.</p><p>“No.” She whimpers. “Why do you torment me so? If I truly offended you, I am sorry.” Maera utters contritely, bowing her head in defeat. Regret floods through him at the misery in her voice.</p><p>“I am only playing vhenan, to tease you.” He quickly reassures her, caressing her hips. “I wanted you to beg for me, to <em>need</em> me, as desperately as I do you.” Solas confesses quietly.</p><p>“Solas…” She huffs with amusement, as though it is the most ridiculous thing he has ever said. She pushes up onto her knees and he molds against her back as her hands clasp around his neck. “Do you still not know how I feel?” Maera bunches the fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, as he rests his chin atop her shoulder. “You are a constant in my thoughts. In every passing moment I crave your touch.” Her soft lips brush across his cheek to his ear, hot breath ghosting across his skin.</p><p>“But you still…” Solas halts, when did he become so needy and insecure? She has a right to her own independence. He sighs. “Forgive me, I felt like you were still keeping yourself from me, that you did not trust me. But I have no right to ask more from you than you are willing to give.”</p><p>“All that I am capable of giving, I have. My heart is yours, Solas. My body.” Her voice trembles, her breath stuttering as his fingers drag up her ribs, cupping her breasts. Maera arches sharply against his hands, like a jolt of lightning has shot through her, as his thumbs flick over her nipples. “Ara nas girelan.” She gasps and a chill courses through his body at her words. He knows she cannot understand the weight of such a statement, a young Dalish, with her false Vallaslin.</p><p>He had dedicated himself to freeing the Elvhen from such bonds. It was reprehensible to him, the idea of holding either a spirit or a soul enslaved in servitude.</p><p><em>And yet, to possess her so completely…</em> Her declaration stirs such a depraved passion within him. Beyond the guilt he feels the truth of it, that he has likewise been ensnared by her. His teeth sink into her shoulder, marking her and she moans, hands pulling at him in ardent fervour. “We have unfinished business.” He murmurs against her neck, pulling her hands from him and pushing her back down onto all fours.</p><p>His hands reclaim her backside, his mouth returning to its prior ministrations. He easily dips his fingers into her moist pussy and it clenches hungrily around his thrusting digits. Maera sighs in relief, delighted to finally have his touch upon her. He groans at how wet she is for him, his cock rigid and throbbing. He swaps hands, raising the first to press a finger, slick with her own juices, into her tight ring of muscle.</p><p>“Yes, oh Solas… please…” She pants, desperate for him to fill her completely. He slides a second finger in, happy to oblige. He undresses with a thought and drags his cock along her folds, coating it in her ample fluids. She tenses as he withdraws his fingers and lines his erection up against her puckered ring.</p><p>“Relax, vhenan… just breathe.” He soothes her, rubbing her back as he slowly eases inside. When he breaks past the threshold she lets go and he slides all the way in. The moan that erupts from her is throatier, more intense than any other he has heard and he trembles along with her. Maera crosses her arms on the ground, pressing her forehead against them as sweat beads along her back. Solas curls over her, kissing up the line of her spine as he sets a slow rhythm. When the remaining tension melts away from her body he changes from slow, shallow thrusts to drawing almost entirely out of her. He smirks at the shuddering moan he coaxes from her, as he slowly inches all the way back in.</p><p>“Solas… Siu’Fen, isala ma…” she pleads. He repeats the motion, delighting in the way she thrusts back onto him; anxious to have his cock pounding deep and hard inside her.</p><p>“Gara!” She exclaims suddenly, shooting off the snow covered ground and onto her hands, nearly pulling off of him. Solas grimaces at her expletive as he catches her hips, holding her steady against him. The Dalish had lost all sense of poetry in their reduction of his people’s tongue.</p><p>Snowdrifts blanket the shore, the river crawling to a halt as it freezes over. Maera shivers from the sudden cold shock, goosebumps raising like scales all over her body. She bucks against him, trying to get as far from the cold as possible.</p><p>“Maera love, calm down,” Solas laughs at how worked up she is.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be funny if it was you freezing your tits off!” she barks at him, trying to pull away again. Her tense movements create such a delightful friction around him and he suppresses a moan. She’ll be even angrier if she thinks he’s taking pleasure from this.</p><p>“You’re right, vhenan.” He strokes her sides in an attempt to placate her. A thought occurs to him and he smirks as he takes a firm hold of her; one hand at her shoulder, the other on her hip.</p><p>Then he is walking around to kneel before her in the snow. She startles again, twisting to look behind her in panic. Solas leers at her from behind and her eyes widen further, mouth frozen in a silent ‘oh’. His second self turns her face forward, his mouth locking over hers; tongue aggressively breaching her lips. Solas hisses sharply through his teeth as he scoots below her, pulling her on top of him. The snow really is bitingly cold on his back. She burns like a firebrand against his chest however and the conflicting signals heighten his arousal.</p><p>“You could melt the snow, da’vise,” he murmurs against her neck, hands brushing over her breasts. Above her, Solas uses his thigh to spread Maera’s knees further apart, repositioning her over himself. He reaches around to guide his second self to her wet, waiting pussy. His other cock twitches in his hand as he strokes the length of it and presses the head against her. He glides into her and he trembles at the overwhelming signals his mind receives from two bodies.</p><p>“Gara em,” Maera exclaims, her nails digging into his skin as she bows and arches, body jerking from being so full of him. He grits his teeth, throbbing inside her. Perhaps the language hadn’t been so terribly abused after all. When it falls from her lips in such carnal exultation; like a sonorous incantation, bringing him undone. He rolls her nipples between his fingers and she clenches around him, so hot and tight. Solas groans in unison, the sublime disembodied sensations making him dizzy.</p><p>“Ara’satha,” he exhales, pressing his face against her back as he begins a steady rhythm. Beneath her, he rolls his hips upwards, alternating his thrusts so that one of them is deep within her as the other withdraws. Through the thin membrane of her passages he can feel himself, grazing over, thrusting past. Solas clenches his jaw, trying to steady his breathing and tamp down the torturous pleasure building inside him. He was doing this for her, it was all for her. The exquisite feedback loop was just an enjoyable side-benefit.</p><p>His mouths and hands are hungry on her, claiming possession of every inch of her body. Maera’s half-lidded eyes are unfocused and glazed with desire. Her breathless moans give way to choking gasps as he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his mouth latching onto a soft breast. He worms his fingers between their bodies, seeking out her sensitive little knot.</p><p>“Solas!” She gasps as he massages it, her body arching and going rigid. She throws her head back as she shatters, crying out in such exquisite agony. Her canals spasm uncontrollably around him and he explodes, his ragged voices joining hers. He catches her between his bodies as she falls, limp and utterly quenched.</p><p>For a brief moment he swears he can smell smoke and the distant cries of battle. But then the river is flowing again, drowning out all sound as it roars, swollen with Spring rains. Solas dissolves back into a single body, cradling her tight against his chest, burying his face against her neck. She shivers as a light breeze drifts over them, shaking blossoms from the trees. They fall on her back, drifting down her sides like his own soft caresses, catching in her ebony hair. He reaches up to pick them tenderly from her tresses and she moans into his shoulder.</p><p>“I can’t move,” she declares, her body slumping heavily on his. She laughs, full of ease and contentment; sweet music to his ears. Maera peppers little kisses along his collarbone, gently stroking his head and face. As she draws a lazy finger along the slope of his ear she raises her head to look at him, eyes twinkling gleefully.</p><p>“Mmmmm,” she bites her lip and sighs, eyebrows twitching suggestively, “…again.”</p><p>“By the Void woman!” he exclaims, his laughter mixing with hers. “You are insatiable.”</p><p>“Only have yourself to blame,” Maera coos, “being so damn irresistible.” Her hand snakes down between them and he catches it before she can grasp him.</p><p>“You need to cool off.” Solas declares, snagging her other wrist and bucking her off him. He gets to his feet and scoops her up, making to throw her in the river.</p><p>“No!” She shrieks, squirming wildly and - having underestimated the steadiness of his own legs - they fall in a heavy heap on the riverbank. “Ouch.” Maera groans, untangling from around him.</p><p>“Ir abelas, ma vhenan.” Solas says contritely, settling on his knees and giving her a hand up.</p><p>“Hmmmm, it’s alright.” Maera winces, rubbing her hip as she leans in close to him. “You can be a <em>good boy</em> and make it up to me,” she purrs and he shakes his head.</p><p>“You need another thrashing.” Solas laughs, all his pensive thoughts drifting away in the giddy ecstasy of her company. He pulls her onto his lap, giving her a sloppy smack as she wriggles away. They clamber to their feet and he notes the sudden stiffening of her spine. She half turns before she catches herself, but he knows where her gaze wants to drift. Solas runs his hand across her back. “You hear it, don’t you?” She nods and turns into his embrace. “What is it?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Maera replies. “It’s a feeling, more than a clear voice. Tugging at me.” She clenches her stomach, as though pulling against an invisible cord.</p><p>“I thought you wanted answers?” He rubs his hands over her waist, trying to ease the tension there.</p><p>“I did.” Maera hesitates. “I do. But there’s something…” she sighs. “I can’t explain this feeling. That I won’t like what I find.”</p><p>“Wherever you lead, I will follow,” he assures her. “Whatever you find, I am with you.” Maera nods and pulls him in for a passionate kiss. Reluctantly she finally draws away and takes his hand, turning toward the ominous horizon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Ara nas girelan - my soul is yours<br/>Ara’satha - my delight<br/>Da’vise - little flame<br/>Fen’Harel, athim’gera min dru’dun - Fen’Harel, I beg you take this body offered in atonement<br/>Gara - fuck<br/>Gara em - fuck me<br/>Ir abelas - I’m sorry<br/>Isala ma - I need you<br/>Ma sa’lath - my one love<br/>Ma vhenan - my heart<br/>Siu’Fen - sweet wolf</p><p> </p><p>UPDATE - Now with smutty pictures. <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/819684882602524713/825232057419956235/river_love_final_copy.png">WARNING NSFW!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Full Stock Of Thoughts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Inquisitor’s Council contemplate the best course of action moving forward.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cullen trails in behind the rest of the Council, closing the doors against the prying eyes and ears of Skyhold. There is sanctuary in this room. Here in this nondescript space, they had decided the fate of Thedas. Directing the course of history, though at the time that was furthest from their minds, simply scrambling to prevent as much chaos and death as they could. The room looms large now, feeling hollow without Lani’s steadying presence. It still amazes him that the quiet elf - surrounded by very outspoken, vibrant and passionate personalities - could bring them all to consensus with a few choice words.</p><p>In private Council, Lani had always protested the she was not the Herald of Andraste, nor the chosen of the Maker; a God she did not even revere or acknowledge. Yet she possessed a wisdom and surety that could be nothing if not Divine guidance. It defied all rational expectation, that a Dalish elf would rise amongst them - with all the skills and attributes required to lead them to victory. Whether she believed in the Maker or not, Cullen felt it was clearly his providence at work here.</p><p>“I take it there has been no news since I left?” Cassandra begins as they loosely surround the map table in the centre of the room. Cullen picks up the figurine they use to mark the Inquisitor’s location. Carefully crafted by Harritt, it is a little bronze hand with a green crystal embedded in the palm. His fingers curl protectively around it; it seems criminal that this simple motif is all she is reduced to. Certainly in the beginning the Anchor is what drew their attention to her, but she was so much more than that.</p><p><em>She has left then,</em> Cullen sighs, his head bowing dejectedly. He thought it would ease his despair, knowing she had not fallen from her balcony. This new sorrow is different - rejection rather than loss - and it hurts almost as keenly. There is also a degree of professional disappointment, that she would abandon her duties. Yes, Corypheus was slain, but there was still much for the Inquisition to do. For her to just up and leave undermined not just their authority, but would be a huge blow to the morale of their members. He knows Lani did not care for the politics and chafed against her role as Inquisitor, but he never thought she would carelessly abandon the people under her command.</p><p>“I’ve received no updates from my agents, nor word from Sulahnean.” Leliana states and looks at them all questioningly. Cullen shakes his head. He has not heard from Lani, nor does he anticipate he would - he is not so deluded as to expect that level of intimacy. The Spymaster frowns, her eyes roaming the map, seeking enlightenment.</p><p>“People are eventually going to notice the Inquisitor is missing.” Josephine is drawing together parchment and pens, finding solace in her familiar tools. “Do we lie, or do we admit the truth? If we do lie, for how long? How long <em>can</em> we keep this a secret?” Josephine looks from him to Cassandra and when they both shrug, she turns helplessly to Leliana.</p><p>“I assumed she left to look for Cole, but he was here, he <em>saw</em> her, didn’t he?” Leliana rubs her brow, looking still at the map, grasping for the missing piece that will solve the mystery. She looks up at Cassandra. “Did he say he was too late?” Cullen scowls, clearly there was information Leliana had decided not to share with him.</p><p>“Cole isn’t the only one that didn’t return with her from the Valley,” Josephine mutters. “Though I honestly thought she was too proud to go running after Solas.” Cullen’s fist clenches around the little figurine at the sound of that cursed name. “Perhaps we can say that the Inquisitor has gone into seclusion, to pray and commune with the Maker?” Josephine’s focus on protecting the Inquisition is sensible and pragmatic, but it enrages Cullen. What <em>is</em> the Inquisition without Lani? It is offensive that they can even think to carry on without her, that she could be so easily swept aside.</p><p>“What else did Cole say, Leliana?” Cullen grinds out.</p><p>“A lot of nonsense,” Cassandra interjects angrily and Cullen is taken aback; what exactly had he missed? “Has he said anything since?” The Seeker asks and Leliana shakes her head.</p><p>“Dorian has been keeping a close eye on him. Mostly Cole’s been in a… state of shock, I suppose you could call it. I tried to press him about Sulahnean and he became very agitated,” Leliana grimaces. “He was screaming that he couldn’t hear her and spouted more of his gibberish. Dorian was terrified by it and he begged me to let him be, to try and keep Cole calm.”</p><p>“Is he dangerous?” Cassandra scowls and Leilana is silent far longer than Cullen likes.</p><p>“I believe…” Leliana’s shoulders slump, “I honestly don’t know.” She confesses and Cullen’s stomach pitches like a ship caught in a storm; for Leliana to admit she is at a complete loss is frightening. Tendrils of shame are slowly creeping through him. Though he is missing much of the context of this conversation, something about it alarms him. A sense that he has been too hasty in his judgement of Lani; that even now she remains deeply in peril.</p><p>“I think you need to share more about what you discovered, the morning of-” The heavy doors of the Council Room burst open, slamming hard against the walls and cutting Cullen’s query short.</p><p>“When exactly were you going to tell us the Inquisitor had gone missing!” Blackwall roars, his wounded gaze falling on Josephine and the Ambassador bristles indignantly. Behind Blackwall, Sera and Varric scowl at the Council as Dorian scurries in, hard on their heels. Cullen is not upset by the interruption, being of a mind with Blackwall. Sometimes there are too many secrets amongst friends in Skyhold.</p><p><em>We all care about Lani, we have the right to know, to help!</em> He fumes.</p><p>“Dorian,” Leliana hisses accusingly.</p><p>“Don’t look at me,” the mage protests. “It was that bloody Fade-spawn!”</p><p>“Actually, we mostly put it together ourselves, but Cole confirmed it,” Varric adds in Dorian’s defence. “You really thought we wouldn’t notice?” He scoffs.</p><p>“-you were supposed to be watching-”</p><p>“-endless shite you lot piled on her-”</p><p>“-exactly cage him, he’s quite a slippery fellow-”</p><p>“-larger issues at stake here-”</p><p>“-Josie, how could you-”</p><p>“-calm down and share, now that we all know-”</p><p>Their voices overlap as Council and Companions argue and upbraid one another. It reminds Cullen of the last time they had thought Lani was lost, after Haven; when shock and fear had overridden sense and turned them against one another. He shakes his head in wonderment; she truly is the thread that binds them all together. How quickly it all falls apart without her.</p><p>“Enough!” Cullen shouts over the melee and pounds his fist on the table; they fall silent, turning to him. He clutches the Herald’s figure to his chest, “Maker bring her home safe, for her sake and ours.”His exasperated prayer rings out clear in the absolute stillness that has taken over the Council Room.</p><p>“Andraste’s tits!” Blackwall exclaims as Cole suddenly materialises on top of the map.</p><p>“She wakes, she wakes!” Cole exults as Cassandra grabs him by the scruff and drags him off the table.</p><p>“You’d better pray she’s happy to see you, Cole.” Cassandra warns him and the spirit’s joy fades, crestfallen. “Where is she?”</p><p>“In-between, out of place, hiding in the cracks.” The Seeker gives him a rough shake and Varric steps toward them, reaching out for Cole.</p><p>“Hey, take it easy, Seeker.” Varric admonishes her.</p><p>“Do you have any idea what he did?” She rounds on the dwarf, face suffused with rage. Cullen is startled by Cassandra’s anger, though Leliana and Dorian both seem unsurprised.</p><p><em>‘What happened?’</em> His frustration with Leliana grows - her compulsion for intrigue may have prevented them all from helping Lani. He could understand the need to keep Lani’s disappearance quiet if she had in fact abandoned them. But it sounds like something truly ominous has occurred. <em>Worse than death even? </em>That must be the case, given Cassandra’s ire.</p><p>“I get that you’re upset, Cassandra,” Varric says gently, trying to diffuse the situation, “but you don’t need to hurt Cole.”</p><p>“I’m not upset Varric, I’m<em> furious</em>. He was making her Tranquil!” They all look to Leliana and Dorian, seeking confirmation of Cassandra’s accusation.</p><p>“It’s true,” Dorian sighs. “Not in the traditional way the Chantry does it, but slowly,” Dorian slumps against the wall, looking utterly exhausted, “by a thousand cuts. Stealing away her pain, her fear, anything he thought was an obstacle to her success.”</p><p>“What the fuck!” Sera tries to kick Cole but Varric blocks her.</p><p>“Stop it, Sera.” The dwarf admonishes her.</p><p>“Whatever, Stoney.” Sera backs away. “Bloody shit magic and creepy demon-boy <em>assholes</em>!” Sera grumbles as she moves as far away from Cole as the room will allow.</p><p><em>Maker’s breath</em>. Cullen can feel his own fury simmering underneath his shock and grief. Now he understands why Cassandra is so personally outraged - given her history with being made Tranquil. At least the process was reversed with Cassandra, could the same be done for Lani? Had such a thing ever been accomplished with a Mage?</p><p><em>So she didn’t abandon us</em>, the relief Cullen feels is fleeting, as fears grips him once again. Where is she then? What <em>has</em> happened to her? <em>Tranquility, </em>he shakes his head in despair. He knows how Lani feels about the Rite. Death <em>would</em> be a mercy for her by comparison.</p><p>“Oi, did that eggy bastard know about this? I bet he did, that smarmy cunt. Kick him in the shitty elf balls if I ever see him again.” Sera raves in the corner and Varric lets out a long, rasping sigh.</p><p>“So… like that Nightmare demon we fought in the Fade? It took Lani’s memories, right?” Varric asks, trying to grasp the concept.</p><p>“Not too dissimilar in theory, I suppose,” Dorian shrugs. They all round on Cole, still held tight by Cassandra.</p><p>“I can fix it, if I slip in-between too,” Cole reassures them, seemingly oblivious to their anger. “I feel thin enough, I can help her come through, find the now.” Cole shimmers and disappears, leaving Cassandra grasping at air.</p><p>“Did he…?” Leliana’s eyes widen.</p><p>“Is she…?” Dorian gasps at the same time and they turn to one another, exclaiming in unison:</p><p>“In the Fade!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Being that this is a rather short chapter and because I greatly appreciate all of you reading this far and your wonderful support, I decided to write an alternate version of Chapter 7 - <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667331">Hedge Wizard</a>.</p><p>It's basically a 'what if' scenario, devised purely to write smut (although it does also give a little more insight into Maera's POV - but it's mostly about the smut). So please enjoy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. These Hands Could Hold The World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Moderately NSFW<br/>Maera and Solas journey deep into the Fade in search of answers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maera holds fast to his hand, guiding him through myriad dreams. They drift past memories - clashes between mighty armies; great moments of discovery and despair; cities rising and falling - leaving them all behind. She is set on an unerring course, pulled by a voiceless siren into the unfathomable deep. They chase it into the Raw Fade, skirting around the demesnes of powerful demons. On further still, to the quietest, in-between places of the Fade; where no Dreamer had trod in millennia.</p><p>She halts at the edge of a precipice, toes clawing at the pockmarked stone. Solas follows her gaze out to a dark smudge in the swirling Ether. An island - flickering like a mirage, while dark shadows duck and weave above it. He presses against Maera’s back, wrapping his arms around her shaking body.</p><p>“I’m afraid,” she whispers.</p><p>“I am here with you.” Solas hugs her tighter, burying his face in her hair. “Let me see you.” Maera turns in the circle of his arms, tears in her eyes. “Do not cry, ma vhenan,” he murmurs as he gently brushes them away.</p><p>“Ar lath ma, Siu’Fen.” Maera holds his hand against her cheek, kissing his palm.</p><p>“Bell’annar, ma era’lathain.” A wracking sob tears from her with these words. “What is wrong?”</p><p>“I can’t explain it,” she shakes her head frantically. “Something terrible, I can feel it inside me.” Maera beats her fist against her breastplate and he puts his hand beneath hers to catch the blows. Solas has never seen her so anguished and he fears what demons might be drawn by it.</p><p>“We don’t have to go there, come back with me,” he entreats and she shakes her head again.</p><p>“I can’t, it’s drawing me in.” Her breath labours as she desperately clutches at him. “I can’t fight it, Solas. Just be with me now, please,” she begs, grinding against him. He takes her mouth, swallowing her sobs as he backs her up against a cragged pillar. Rational thought flees from him, washed away by the torrent of desperate need that surges from her. Solas runs a hand over her ass, pulling up her thigh to hook a leg around his hip. He presses into her, feeling her naked heat against his crotch and he divests his own robes. Bracing them against the spire, he is shocked by the abrasiveness of it under his hand and he draws back, concerned for Maera’s comfort.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” she utters urgently as she pulls him firmly back to her. He wants to protest, but she wraps her other leg around him and he has no choice but to steady them both against the spire. “I need you… I need you…” she pleads as her legs clench around him.</p><p>So compelled, he thrusts into her, grunting at the sensation of being enclosed by her.Electricity races through every nerve in his body. Maera cries out as he sets a relentless pace, as though her very life depended on this moment. She wraps her arms around his head in a death grip and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.</p><p>“I want to stay like this,” she pants, “with you, vhenan. Forever.” He trembles at her words, trying to not lose control. He untangles one of her white-knuckled hands, twining his fingers with hers as he presses it above her head. Finding a moment of tender connection within their frenzied rutting.</p><p><em>Forever</em>, he had also said and yet it seems inadequate compared to what he feels. She was his heart, his home, his sanctuary. There were no words or actions that could truly express how he felt, but he tried his hardest - kissing her, cradling her, pressing deep inside. He was desperate to become one flesh, one heart, one soul - inseparable. When she cries out - keening his name - it is as much a release of sorrow as pleasure. He reaches his own ragged end; all at once, losing and finding himself within her.</p><p>As they catch their breath he strokes her hair and face, showering her with kisses - expressing through his touch what his words cannot convey. Maera cradles his face with her hands, aligning his gaze with hers. She is clear-eyed as she studies him, almost as though she is memorising every inch of his face.</p><p><em>I suppose neither of us can find the words.</em> Maera looks at him with such tender acceptance and love, that there can be no doubt what is in her heart.</p><p>“Ma gael’rahnis.” She says with such fervour that he falls against her, kissing her like a man starved. Happily he would have taken her again, but Maera lowers her legs, steadying herself. He slips from inside her, keenly feeling the disconnect. She straightens, adopting a posture of fierce determination as she approaches the precipice, armour once again forming a shell around her. It is an affectation; an outward expression of her internal fortitude. Solas stands beside her, admiring and proud. There is no hint of the trembling mess she had been. She is stronger - more capable - than she knows and he feels blessed that she has chosen to be vulnerable with him. She offers him her hand and he gladly takes it as she steps off the ledge and into the Ether.</p><p>They stride together over the mist, as though it were solid ground beneath them. Dark shapes writhe beneath the fog but she keeps her eyes ahead, fixed on the island that looms ever nearer - a rugged stone protrusion jutting from the Ether. Clearly now he can see that the flitting creatures are Shades and Wraiths - diving and weaving as they attempt to find an opening in the surface of the stack. One dives too close and is bludgeoned from the air by the Varterral that patrols the shore. It tramples the Shade into oblivion and shrieks defiantly at the remaining interlopers.</p><p>Undeterred, Maera steps foot on the island and an opening appears in the serrated surface of the mound. At her arrival, a piercing cacophony arises from the lesser demons. Maera pays it no heed, heading directly for the entrance. The moment Solas’ feet alight on the island the Varterral turns, scuttling toward them. Before he can defend himself Maera steps back, shielding Solas with her body. The Varterral rears back, roaring in anger and he wonders how she could possibly know that the creature would not harm her.</p><p>“How-” he begins to ask and she gives her head a little shake.</p><p>“We need to go,” she insists as she wraps her arms backwards, grasping his waist. Slowly she edges them toward the entrance, keeping herself between him and the beast. The Varterral follows them every step of the way, head swaying in frustration as it hisses and spits at Solas. They back into the entrance as a demon attempts to make a break inside and the Varterral turns, fighting off the new intruder.</p><p>The entrance closes behind them and together they hurry down the dim tunnel into a narrow cavern. Veilfire dances in sconces along the walls, casting eerie green light across the formations that sprout from floor and ceiling. The way the shadows slowly drift and slide over the glistening stone creates an uncanny impression of being underwater.</p><p>“I know this place,” Maera says, her voice echoing through the silent cavern.</p><p>“Is this a memory?” Solas asks her. “A dream?” He examines the cavern, looking for any distinctive features, but it could well be part of any number of tunnels in Thedas. Enclosed in the stone they can now hear a persistent, erratic echo. A muffled thud hits close above them, the vibration of the impact rippling through the rock - the very air - around them. “They’re throwing themselves against the stone?” Solas scowls up at the arched ceiling which trembles with each collision.</p><p>“I came from there.” Maera points further in and they pick their way past the formations, finally emerging into a vaulted crypt. A stone tomb lies in the centre of the chamber, austere and unmarked. Here the Veilfire casts large shadows against the smooth walls and they almost seem to take on definable shapes, but Solas has no time to study them.</p><p>At their approach three spirits appear, taking on the forms of the Enasalin’abelas - ancient warriors that would give their lives to protect Dreamers. Each bears a different Vallaslin - Andruil, Sylaise and June - the Evanuris most revered but the Dalish.</p><p>“You've returned,” the Sylasian spirit says with relief.</p><p>“What is <em>he</em> doing here?” The apparent leader of the group sneers at Solas, his fearsome visage intensified by Andruil’s mark. Solas is taken aback, it is unusual for spirits to treat him with such disdain.</p><p>“He’s a friend,” Maera informs them, but they do not seem convinced.</p><p>“Come, it is time,” the Andrulian states brusquely and reaches forward to grasp Maera. She deftly deflects the warrior’s hand.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Maera says firmly. The chamber rocks - a deep boom breaking the persistent patter of the demons hurling themselves against the island. The Enasalin draw their weapons, looking furtively around the cave as they search for any intruders that may have breached the walls.</p><p>“The Blight empowers them, it is not safe for you.” The Sylasian implores Maera, “You <em>must</em> wake up.” Bewildered, Maera shakes her head and steps back against Solas. He curls a protective arm around her and the spirit trio scowl at the intimate contact.</p><p>“I can keep her safe,” Solas assures them. “We only came to-”</p><p>“<em>You?</em>” The Andrulian interjects scathingly. “<em>You</em> cannot be trusted!” Solas’ lip curls in a sneer, it would appear these spirits had been infected with the typical Dalish rhetoric.</p><p>“I see my reputation precedes me,” Solas utters humourlessly.</p><p>“Return or perish!” The guardian commands and he lunges forward, thrusting his blade at Solas as he tries to tear Maera away.</p><p>“You dare threaten her.” Solas snarls dangerously, as Maera strikes the warrior, sending him stumbling back into his companions. Rage charges through his body, clouding the edges of his vision with lethal intensity.</p><p>“Stop, please!” The Sylasian pleads with them, trying to calm the situation.</p><p>Her words reach the Andrulian and he attempts to explain himself to Maera, “It is not <em>I</em> that-”</p><p>"They’re breaking through!” The Junian shouts as the chamber wall shudders and cracks, rocks blasting across the floor. The Varterral is propelled across the rubble on its back, a Pride demon tangled within its gnarled legs. Wraiths and other demons pour in through the gaping hole as the Pride demon manages to right itself on top of the Varterral. Pride’s foot presses on its throat, holding the flailing creature down as mammoth talons snap off one trembling limb. Without a second thought Solas shifts, his deadly jaws snapping, as he growls at demons and spirits alike.</p><p>“Creators!”</p><p>“You brought Fen’Harel here?”</p><p>“Are you mad!” The Enasalin cry out, more horrified by his presence than an army of demons. They do not have the luxury of more words as the demons swarm and two of the guardians leap forward to beat them back. A Shade attempts to swoop past Solas and he catches hold of it; shrieking, it dissipates as he pierces it with his fangs.</p><p>“We will hold them back, you must hurry!” The Sylasian propels Maera toward the tomb and turns to guard her back. The Varterral manages to buck Pride off and scrambles to its feet, unsteady but determined. The guardians join it, pushing the wave of demons back. Solas lopes toward the tomb but the Sylasian bars his way, ready to engage him if he encroaches further.</p><p>Solas watches Maera climb the steps up to the tomb and she pushes the heavy stone cover off the sarcophagus. Her eyes widen as she peers inside, hand covering her gasp of shock as she stumbles back.</p><p>Maera looks at him with clarity, a range of emotions sweeping across her face and she falls hard to her knees. The colour drains from her as she doubles over, a wracking cry tearing from her.</p><p>“Maera!” Instinctively Solas rushes toward her, but the sting of a blade against his foreleg halts his stride. He growls at the spirit that stands defiantly in his way. He tries to dash past her and her blade flashes, just missing his throat as he leaps back. The wound on his leg is already closing over and he throws caution to the wind, lunging directly at the spirit. She cries out in alarm as he knocks her to the ground, holding her down with one mighty paw.</p><p>The Sylasian squirms under the weight of him, stabbing at his foot with her blade. He ignores the pain, closing his jaws over her and she screams as his teeth pierce her torso. Solas yanks his head back - tearing the Spirit in twain - her essence scattering to the Ether.</p><p>“No!” Solas hears one of the guardians shout, but they are too far and too busy to stop him. Maera is back on her feet and she stumbles to the edge of the sarcophagus.</p><p>“Maera!” he calls again as he races toward her. She locks eyes with him as she reaches into the tomb and the fear on her face pierces his heart. A barrier springs up around Maera and the sarcophagus, the magic blasting his body back, fur sizzling where it makes contact.“Vhenan!” He howls, throwing himself mindlessly against the barrier.</p><p>“Fen’Harel!” The Andrulian shouts from behind him and Solas turns, locking his terrible crimson gaze on him. The Varterral lies on the ground, its body twitching in the throes of death amongst the dark, lingering energy of vanquished demons.</p><p>“You will go no further,” the guardian rasps defiantly. The obstinate Enasalin is the last one standing and he glares at Solas, blade held menacingly in his one good hand. His other arm is torn asunder, his essence leaking out through the wound like a twisting pillar of smoke.</p><p>“Who are <em>you</em> to stop me?” Solas snarls as he paces menacingly before the annoying spirit.</p><p>“<em>She</em> appointed me her guardian,” the Andrulian states and Solas blinks, not understanding what he means. “I will see her safe, no matter the sacrifice.” The spirit lunges at him and Solas flings him to the side, like the insignificant nuisance that he is. The Enasalin slams against the wall of the chamber, falling hard to the floor.</p><p>Solas turns back to the barrier, he is a master of the Fade, this magic cannot hold against him forever. He reaches out with feeling, probing at the edges of the barrier. If it was raised by the guardian spirits that dwell here, it should be easy enough to dispel. He is surprised when it stands firm against him. There is something <em>familiar</em> about the feel of it; possessing a sense of kinship, not unlike what he has often felt from Maera.</p><p>His curiosity is piqued, but the belligerent spirit once again interrupts his investigation. Solas hears the guardian stumbling toward him; blade scraping across the stone floor as he uses it to hold himself erect. Solas rounds on the spirit as it makes a feeble effort to strike him. Solas decides to put him out of his misery and snaps his jaws around the Enasalin.</p><p>“You’ve failed,” the Andrulian spits at him gleefully and he dissolves; returning to the Ether. The barrier collapses behind Solas and he races to the tomb. His heart pounds in his chest as he stares down at the bare interior of the sarcophagus. Solas scans the rear of the chamber for any sign of Maera, but she is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>The solid walls of the crypt turn hazy and immaterial, as all around him the island begins to dissipate. Soon there is no evidence that it ever existed, as he turns, searching the swirling Ether - finding that he is completely alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Ar lath ma - I love you<br/>Bell’annar - Forever<br/>Ma era’lathain - My lovely dream<br/>Ma gael’rahnis - You are everything, my all, you complete me : beyond measure<br/>Siu’Fen - sweet wolf<br/>Vhenan - heart</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. To Wake From Its Slumber</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With Cole's guidance, Lani returns to Skyhold, to the great relief of her friends. But she remains troubled by her experiences in the Fade.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lani lurches awake, gasping for air with her pulse thundering in her ears. Disoriented by terror she blinks up at the opaque green barrier swirling around her. Beyond it she can hear battle raging and she shakes her head, trying to clear the fog that dulls her mind; the after-effect of such a long slumber.</p>
<p><em>Danger</em>, is her most pressing thought. Demons have come for her body and she is no longer safe here. The doorway appears without her even consciously summoning it; the Fade intrinsically knowing what she needs, what she desires. She heaves herself from the tomb, scrambling down the steps to the portal.</p>
<p><em>Solas</em>, she hesitates at the threshold. <em>Not Solas, </em>she corrects herself<em>, Fen’Harel. </em>It wasn’t possible that Solas - the <em>real</em> Solas - could have found her. While true that he was an expert on the Fade and assuming her friends had thought to look for her here, he would not even know she had left Skyhold. He had abandoned her after all, disappearing into the wilds for reasons unknown.</p>
<p><em>Yet</em>… she hesitates, finding herself unable to step into the waiting portal. He seemed so <em>like</em> Solas in his manner and speech - albeit far less hesitant to express physical affection.</p>
<p><em>By the Dread Wolf!</em> Lani blushes furiously, heat searing through her as she recalls their time together in the Fade. Lani winces in shame and embarrassment at how readily she tingles with desire. <em>He got his hooks in deep, you silly girl, s</em>he chastises herself and leaps through the doorway before her traitorous body causes her to falter again.</p>
<p>Lani emerges in the Courtyard at Skyhold, but it is not the home she remembers. This place is still a crumbling ruin - bare and empty - with no memory of the Inquisition. As she wanders the grounds, wisps of history take shape around her. Alamarri tribesmen huddle together around a sputtering campfire as they shelter from a raging storm. Elsewhere, ancient Fereldans haul stone up the mountainside, to lay the first foundations of this storied fortress.</p>
<p>She needs to return home, but she fears there may not be one to return to. How long has she slumbered here in the Fade? Long enough for another Blight to be unleashed on Thedas at least. It is hard to think straight as the fog begins to lift and a tumult of feelings stir within. Though the initial shock of her trauma has passed, the pain still remains. It sits tremulous and brittle, as it constricts around her heart.</p>
<p>She begins to recall the moment she arrived in the Fade. She was overwrought; curled tight and gasping in the Ether. The spirits that answered her desperate pleas were born of Dalish faith and they held her as she fractured, falling into sleep to heal her weary soul.</p>
<p>As she slumbered, the Fade gathered around her, manifesting her unconscious desires. It built a fortress, mimicking the mausoleums of Elvhenan, where immortal elves had slumbered in Uthenera. The Dalish spirits took on the mantle of the Enasalin’abelas and declared that they would keep her sleeping body from harm.</p>
<p>Her own spirit was released, gathering a lifetime of memories that cause her all manner of confusion - not least because she was herself and yet not herself. An idealised reflection of her desire to be resolute and unbreakable; free of pain and heartache, but the essence of Lani, deep at its core. As unsettling as the memories are, they provide a buffer - something else for her mind to focus on. Giving her necessary space from the trauma that drove her here in the first place.</p>
<p><em>A healthy dose of imminent peril works wonders too</em>, she muses wryly. The arrival of a spirit interrupts her pensive introspection. It flits around, dancing with joy to see her. Though it is bright and incorporeal she would recognise this spark anywhere.</p>
<p>“Cole.” Lani calls out and the spirit of Compassion laughs gaily.</p>
<p>“I’m so light!” he cries with such unfettered joy and Lani realises it was wrong to have kept him so long from the Fade. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” he confesses more seriously. “In choosing to return to the Fade, in becoming myself again, I can see now that what I did to you was wrong.”</p>
<p>“What you did?” Lani asks, not understanding.</p>
<p>“I hurt you, I thought I was helping. Helping take your pain away.” Cole confesses.</p>
<p>“You took…” It hits Lani like a punch in the gut. The feelings, the memories that had come crashing over her, that she hadn’t even known were missing. It had been too much, to have all that trauma come flooding back at once. She knew Cole had suffered some corruption from being in the physical world, but she had no idea it was this extreme.</p>
<p>“I’ve come to help you, I know when you need to go.” Cole floats closer to her.</p>
<p>“When?” Lani asks quizzically, still trying to process what he has already told her. Cole doesn’t answer as he reaches out to touch her forehead. An image of the War Room flashes into her mind; her friends assembled about the table. Cassandra is shaking her - him - it’s Cole’s eyes she is seeing through.</p>
<p>“They’re waiting for you. They’ve been very worried, I don’t want them to hurt anymore.” Cole flits away from her and she sighs, thinking of the burdens that await her there. Their pain does cause her grief, but she wants to be selfish for once in her life. Though staying in the Fade is no longer an option.</p>
<p><em>Wasn’t a great solution either to be honest</em>, she grimaces, thinking about how things turned out. She’d very nearly left her sleeping body at the mercy of Fen’Harel. Imagine if he had been able to use her to find his way back into the world. Everything she had worked for with the Inquisition could have been undone; unleashing a power far older and more malevolent than Corypheus. A little niggle of doubt scratches in the back of her brain but she pushes it down, focusing on what she needs to do in the now.</p>
<p>Lani thrusts her left hand forward, the Anchor bursting with power as she focuses on the image Cole had shown her. She sees the tear slowly forming in the Veil and sweat beads on her brow as she summons every ounce of will she has to pry it open. She has never had this much difficulty opening a rift and she wonders if her power has waned somehow. Finally the rift bursts open and as Lani steps toward it, Cole swoops in behind her.</p>
<p>“No Cole.” Lani says, holding up her hand. “You should stay here.”</p>
<p>“You don’t want me to come back with you?” The gentle spirit is hurt, but she truly believes this is the right thing to do.</p>
<p>“You belong here, you seem so much happier in the Fade.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I am,” he admits. “If you are sure.”</p>
<p>“I am,” she tells him. Lani does not voice all the concerns she has about what he might do if he were to return with her. He doesn’t need to know that she fears him now; that she can never trust him again. Cole laughs again as he floats away into the Fade, free at last. Lani watches him swoop away and lets out a sigh of relief as she steps through the rift.</p>
<p>She falls to her knees on the map table with a grunt, shocked by how heavy she suddenly feels.</p>
<p>“Lani!” Cassandra sheathes her sword. All of her friends are in defensive positions, preparing for the worst to emerge from the rift. With a gesture she closes the tear behind her and lets Cassandra steady her as she sits on the edge of the table. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>Lani pauses a moment, catching her breath as she takes in the loose circle of her friends; their faces a mix of concern and relief. She looks up at Cassandra and can see it in her pitying expression, that she knows her pain. A terrible shudder runs through her; something <em>snaps</em> inside and a broken sob tears from her lungs. Cassandra holds her, as Lani pours out her grief and heartache. Lani cannot give voice to any specific pain, she simply lets it go; til finally she draws a great trembling breath and slumps against Cassandra, completely spent.</p>
<p>“I am alright.” She says at length and Cassandra steps back, studying her intently. They are all watching her in fact, as she wipes her face on her sleeve and she begins to feel quite self-conscious. “This is awkward,” Lani says with a nervous laugh. It feels strange to be here, everything seems so intense; even the air feels almost solid in her lungs. A very firm - very real body - is suddenly crushing her.</p>
<p>“I’ve half a mind to scold you like a bumbling apprentice!” Dorian exhorts and he releases her, his eyes brimming with tears. “But I’m just so terribly glad that you’re back.”</p>
<p>“As are we all.” Cassandra adds and the rest of her companions echo the sentiment.</p>
<p>“Nu-uh! Isn’t anyone gonna talk about how funny she looks?” Sera interjects angrily and her companion’s look from Lani to Sera in confusion.</p>
<p>“What?” Lani looks down at herself. She is still wearing the same clothes as the night of the celebration. The blue of her jerkin seems more vibrant than she remembers. She can see all the individual tufts of woven velvet, standing out clearly to her eye. For a moment she loses herself, brushing her thumb over the fabric, mesmerised by the way it flattens and ripples back into place.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing, Birdie.” Dorian pats her legs in reassurance, and she jumps slightly, her focus snapping back to her friends. “You just look a little puffy from crying is all.”</p>
<p>“Not that, there’s colours all-” Sera frantically mimes a spouting motion with her hands. “It’s bloody weird, even for you Quizzy.” She looks helplessly for anyone else to confirm what she sees. “Fuck this.”</p>
<p>“Sera!” Blackwall calls out, chasing after the elf as she storms out.</p>
<p>“How long was I…” Lani trails off, they all look the same as when she left; only sharper, more defined somehow.</p>
<p>“It’s been four days.” Cullen tells her, his ragged voice expressing the full weight of those long days.</p>
<p><em>That can’t be right, </em>Lani shakes her head. <em>It felt an age.</em></p>
<p>“What happened to Cole?” Varric asks anxiously and Lani feels Cassandra and Dorian tense at the mention of the spirit.</p>
<p>“He stayed behind, in the Fade.” Lani tells him and Varric nods, sad but resigned. “He was happy, he was himself again.” Lani adds purely for Varric’s sake, she knows how he always worried for Cole.</p>
<p>She tries to stand, sliding off the table and her legs give way. Only Cassandra’s quick reflexes keep her from dropping like a rock. Lani begins to shake as Cassandra props her up against the table; a clammy nausea sweeping over her.</p>
<p>“I don’t feel so great.” She stutters. “I think… I just need to lie down on the floor.” Lani tries to slump down but Cassandra holds her up. <em>Why is everything falling sideways?</em></p>
<p>“You need to go to your quarters,” Cassandra states firmly. “And to eat something I think.” The Seeker clucks at her and Lani knows better than to argue. That is until Cassandra looks at Cullen and he moves forward with a nod, the Seeker stepping aside for him.</p>
<p>“I can walk.” She protests feebly, earning a round of scoffing derision from everyone. Cullen sweeps her up like she is nothing and she groans as the motion makes her brain feel like it is spinning. It is not the first time Cullen has carried her, but she was barely conscious at the time and he was wearing his bulky armour. Without that barrier, Lani is all too aware of the shape of him as Cullen holds her close. From the set of his jaw, she suspects Cullen feels as awkward as she.</p>
<p>“Why are you so damp?” She grumbles, attempting to relieve the tension. Cullen chuckles then, a quiet sound of relief mixed with amusement. Dorian strides ahead of them, opening the doors for Cullen.</p>
<p>“You had me worried.” The Commander murmurs as he carries her to her quarters. Lani stiffens, her ears burning as a memory comes upon her of very different arms holding her tight, bringing her to a wooded glade. She grits her teeth, trying to stem the sensations that flood her body as it remembers. She was fire; then she was fur and finally pure, hungering desire.</p>
<p>The guards on duty in the Great Hall give them a sidelong glance but quickly avert their gaze when Cullen scowls at them. Lani hopes that Dorian’s presence might help keep salacious gossip from spreading.</p>
<p><em>Or more likely to intensify the rumours, s</em>he grimaces. “I think I can manage the rest of the way myself.” Lani squirms but Cullen does not relinquish his grip. He tightens his hold, hands shifting to right the balance of her. As his fingers brush along her ribs Lani stifles a moan, burying her head against Cullen’s shoulder. She prays he has not sensed the need that spills out of her. Fen’Harel has awakened something frightening and unquenchable within her.</p>
<p>“Let me do this.” He entreats her. “Besides, Cassandra frightens me more than you do.” Lani sighs, resigning herself to the will of her friends. Cullen gets her up the stairs to her room and she slumps into the settee as he deposits her on it.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Cullen.” She says earnestly and notices the flush on his face. Lani avoids his eyes, guilt cutting through her. It would be foolish to assume his redness was entirely due to the effort of carrying her. Cullen lingers a moment then nods and takes his leave as Dorian collapses beside her on the chair with a weary groan.</p>
<p>“Even when the crisis is past, you still manage to make things exciting, don’t you?” Dorian drawls, but he takes her hand and gives it a warm squeeze, softening his words.</p>
<p>“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” Lani counters and Dorian smirks.</p>
<p>“So, please tell me you weren’t trapped in some nightmare for four days.” He asks seriously and Lani begins to shake her head, but thinks better of it as the room spins.</p>
<p>“No nightmares, but it felt a lot longer than four days.”</p>
<p>“That’s possible, time does pass differently in the Fade. I know I’ve had dreams that felt like a whole lifetime.” Lani considers his words, there is some truth to it and yet she has doubts. This was no ordinary dream she had experienced, but it also seems impossible that she could have survived any length of time in the Fade beyond four days.</p>
<p><em>“There has not been a Dreamer born, capable of entering Uthenera in Millenia!”</em> Fen’Harel’s harsh accusation pushes into her mind. Her brain still feels like it is taking a dip in a murky swamp and she can’t think straight. Can’t quite get the pieces to all align in a way that makes sense.</p>
<p>Cassandra comes striding up the stairs, carrying a tray of food and a pot of tea, which she deposits on the side table near Lani.</p>
<p>“Eat.” She commands imperiously and pulls over a chair to sit in front of them. Lani picks up some bread and cheese, chewing diligently as Cassandra stares at her. It is not until she has choked down two or three mouthfuls that Cassandra finally relaxes and eases back in her seat. Lani taps her chest where the bread has lodged on the way down and takes a gulp of hot tea.</p>
<p>“How do you feel?” Cassandra is studying her with great concern.</p>
<p>“I feel better, though some things are still hazy.” Lani looks around her quarters. It is disconcerting to be in this familiar, unchanged place; feeling as though she were only here yesterday, but also a lifetime ago.</p>
<p>“And the pain Cole took from you, the memories?”</p>
<p>“They hurt, but the initial shock has passed and I think, with time, the pain will fade. That’s the natural process, right?” Lani shrugs.</p>
<p>“Yes, Cole should never have done what he did.” Cassandra snaps. “There may be long term effects for all we know. Reversing Tranquility in a mage has never been successfully attempted before. The results were disastrous.”</p>
<p>“I can attest to that. I felt like I was losing my mind.” Lani admits and worry creeps over Cassandra’s face. <em>I’m not entirely sure I didn’t, </em>she keeps to herself. Part of her fears she will never truly be herself again. She shattered, then pulled herself back together through sheer force of will; a feat accomplished only because she could enter the Fade. She hopes that time will indeed heal all wounds, but she is not foolish enough to think there will not be permanent scars. “I guess it’s fortunate that I’m not like other mages.” She holds up her hand and lets power flow to the Anchor. It emits a crackling green pulse that makes both Cassandra and Dorian shift nervously.</p>
<p>“No indeed.” Dorian concedes.</p>
<p>“It changes a lot of what I thought I knew, about our connection to the Fade and its power is,” she pauses trying to find the words to express these suspicions she has, “far greater than merely a means to open and close rifts. Corypheus said I couldn’t even begin to fathom the true power of it and he was right. ”</p>
<p>“Did something happen in the Fade, with the Anchor?” Cassandra asks.</p>
<p>“Not exactly, I guess I just feel a bit rattled.” She doesn’t know how to voice this sensation, of feeling out of place. Lani thought it would be a comfort to be back in the physical world and yet, it all feels wrong to her. Perhaps it would just take some getting used to again, in the same way the Fade felt unnatural to her in the beginning. “I’m still processing it all.”</p>
<p>“Processing what? What did you see in the Fade?” Dorian presses. Lani pauses, wondering how to phrase what she experienced in a way that won’t alarm them - or embarrass herself.</p>
<p>“A great many things. I met a Dreamer. Only he turned out to be Fen’Harel, apparently.” Invoking his name ignites an unwelcome heat inside her and Lani is relieved that her voice betrays nothing of her inner turmoil.</p>
<p>“Fen’Harel, the Dalish god of misfortune?” Dorian quirks an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Was that the one with a shrine at the temple in the Wilds?” Cassandra interjects.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s right.” Lani is pleasantly surprised to discover just how much her friends had been paying attention to the Elven lore unearthed in their travels. “The Dalish believe that he tricked our Creators and trapped them in the Fade, himself included. An event which led to the ruin of our civilisation.”</p>
<p>“Do you think it was really him, or just a demon posing as Fen’Harel? Oooh! Was he a wolf?” Dorian asks gleefully.</p>
<p><em>So far, so good, </em>Lani thinks<em>, just keep it together. </em>She presses her palms flat on her thighs, trying not to fidget.</p>
<p>“Not the whole time.” She admits flatly.</p>
<p>“The whole…?” Dorian’s eyes narrow.</p>
<p>
  <em>Gara!</em>
</p>
<p>“How much time exactly did you spend with this… <em>Fen’Harel</em>?” Dorian sits up, suddenly fully engaged. Lani can feel the heat creeping along her ears as he peers at her. “You cheeky minx! The whole time we're worrying ourselves sick, you’re off having some fever dream with an Elven god!”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t like…” She begins to protest and stammers to a halt. It was <em>exactly</em> like that.</p>
<p>“Oh no? Then pray tell, what did he look like, hmmm? Thoroughly repulsive, yes?” Dorian needles sarcastically. Lani looks frantically to Cassandra, hoping for rescue but the Seeker gives her a pointed look as if to say, ‘Spill it’.</p>
<p>“<em>Sulahnean</em>…” Dorian prods.</p>
<p>“So I’m not allowed to have any privacy anymore, is that it?” Lani blusters. Cassandra seems to relent, but Dorian does not buy it.</p>
<p>“Didn’t you learn anything from this ordeal? It’s not healthy to bottle everything away and the more you try to deflect, the more I’m inclined to think that something very worrying occurred.”</p>
<p>“Cole <em>took</em> from me,” Lani returns angrily, incensed by Dorian’s words. “He violated me and you’re acting like I had it coming, just because I don’t overshare!” She was trembling again, but Dorian eases back, his expression softening.</p>
<p>“Feel better?” He smirks.</p>
<p>“No.” Lani huffs petulantly, trying her hardest not to cave to Dorian’s ineffable charm.</p>
<p>“No-one is saying you deserved what happened Lani, but we had no idea how much pain you were in and we can’t help, if you don’t let us.” Cassandra urges and Lani grimaces. She understands what they are saying, but this is just too mortifying to confess.</p>
<p>“You need to let yourself be vulnerable in here.” Dorian gestures amongst the three of them. “So that you can be strong, out there.” He takes her hand and gives it an encouraging little shake. Lani lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. It is hard to let go, to be vulnerable.</p>
<p>“Solas…” She says, looking firmly at the floor, ashamed to meet their gaze. “He looked like Solas.”</p>
<p>“Well, that is…” Dorian falls silent.</p>
<p>“Oh, Lani.” Cassandra says gently and Lani’s eyes sting from the pity in her voice.</p>
<p>“No wonder they call him the Trickster, that is <em>diabolical</em>.” Dorian snorts.</p>
<p>“The thing is though, I think… he might actually have been Solas.” Lani looks up at them, blinking back her tears. It was a feeling she had not been able to shake, from the moment she awoke in the Fade. Finally saying it out loud, it sounded like utter madness. Yet at the same time, it also felt <em>right</em>.</p>
<p>“Really? You think Solas is an ancient Elven god?” Dorian scoffs, looking utterly incredulous.</p>
<p>“Is it so far-fetched? We found ancient elves in the Temple of Mythal. I met Flemeth who said she <em>was</em> Mythal, or a part of her.” Lani presses.</p>
<p>“That is what she <em>claimed, </em>whether it’s the truth is another matter<em>.</em>” Cassandra states<em>. "</em>Corypheus claimed godhood too remember.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure it seemed real to you, Lani, but do you honestly think an ancient elven god… spirit… demon, what-have-you, couldn’t read your thoughts and desires and turn them against you? Don’t let him get in your head. Any more than he already has that is.” Lani can see the concern on Dorian’s face and she wants to believe he is right. She doesn’t know why she feels this niggling doubt.</p>
<p>“It was very real.” She confesses meekly.</p>
<p>“Lani you were in a very vulnerable state. You still are, especially where Solas is concerned.” Sorrow wells inside her as Cassandra speaks.</p>
<p><em>They think I’ve lost all reason. </em>Maybe she has if she is trying this hard to justify what she feels. Why is she so determined to prove that Fen’Harel wasn’t toying with her? To prove that it was real?</p>
<p>“I’m not saying you are wrong, we’ve seen plenty of strange things, Maker knows. Just give it some time before you go leaping to conclusions.” Cassandra urges her.</p>
<p>“<em>All</em> accounts say that Fen’Harel trapped himself in the Fade, he couldn’t possibly be Solas. Birdie… my love,” Dorian touches her chin gently, coaxing her to look at him. “I know that Solas hurt you terribly and as far as I am concerned, he is a complete <em>shit</em>. But he isn’t a <em>monster</em>.” Lani nods and sighs, they are being quite sensible and rational.</p>
<p><em>And yet…</em>she squeezes her eyes closed in determination<em>. No more. Think of him no more.</em></p>
<p>“I’m exhausted.” She admits wearily. “Opening that rift was draining.” A look passes between Dorian and Cassandra and they seem to reach an unspoken agreement.</p>
<p>“Then we shall let you rest.” Dorian pats her knee affectionately and rises from the settee.</p>
<p>“I can stay, if you would like.” Cassandra offers and Lani genuinely considers it.</p>
<p>“I will be alright, Cass, but thank you.” The Seeker nods and stands hesitantly.</p>
<p>“You’re sure?” She asks again and Lani almost relents. Part of her longs for Cassandra’s reassuring presence. But she can see the exhaustion that marks both of their faces. Her friends need rest even more than she does.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Lani laughs lightly, expressing a certainty she does not feel. “I will see you tomorrow. I promise.”</p>
<p>“I will hold you to that.” Cassandra warns her as she and Dorian head for the stairs.</p>
<p>“Oh, one thing,” Lani has a sudden thought, “has there been any word of a Blight?” Cassandra stops and scowls.</p>
<p>“No, why do you ask?”</p>
<p>“Just something I saw in the Fade,” Lani waves it away as nonsense, “but I suppose it was nothing, just a Fade memory.” Cassandra scrutinises her and finally nods, descending the stairs.</p>
<p>Lani kicks off her shoes as she hears the door close behind them. There was no lie, she truly does feel drained, but the thought of sleep fills her with dread.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N - So I've been so busy this week working on ideas and one-shots for some upcoming events, I very nearly forgot that it was update day.</p>
<p>But here it is, phew! Here's a little preview of the next chapter:</p>
<p>“I’m the one you want!” He shouts, unleashing a shockwave of magic that knocks the Templars from their feet. Then he is running again, leading the Templars back in the direction of Wycome. </p>
<p>“Forget the rabbits,” the Templar Lieutenant growls. “Get that abomination.”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. I Shall Endure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Perplexed and hurt, Solas waits in the Fade for Maera's return, eventually resolving to seek her out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas waits - dazed and aching - sitting on the precipice where he and Maera had last embraced. <em>What just happened?</em> Never in all his long exploration of the Fade has he encountered such a clamouring of demons; or spirits that regarded him with such animosity.</p><p><em>They did not know I was Fen’Harel.</em> In the heat of the moment it hadn’t registered. They had been surprised - utterly horrified - when he shape-shifted. Why then had they been so hostile toward him, when he was merely Solas? By whose will had that tomb been formed; who compelled those spirits to sacrifice their lives in defence of it? Somewhere in the midst of it all was Maera - seemingly both the question and the answer to a riddle he could not solve.</p><p><em>A mortal must slumber eventually</em>, he reasons, and hopes that perhaps she may return. The way she had looked at him at the end still cuts through him, as sure as any blade. What had she seen in that moment? What sudden, ghastly revelation had sent her fleeing from him?</p><p><em>Not from me perhaps, but from the demons that clamoured after her</em>. The thought gives him hope, tenuous though it is. She would not return here then, if that were the case. He picks himself up and considers that the most likely place - if she <em>were</em> looking for him - might be the glade in which they first made love.</p><p>Solas strolls through those deep woods, searching for any sign of her - but all that remains are memories. Here the place she tumbled, when he chased her as a wolf. Now the gnarled log where she perched, contemplating the revelation of his identity.</p><p><em>“Take me, vhenan.”</em> Memories fire - her breathy moans, the taste of her in his mouth; the ecstasy of being enveloped by her wet, trembling heat. He leans against an ancient oak, aching with longing. The very place he had gifted her a token of his love and she had called his name in exultation.</p><p>Solas touches his face in wonder, staring at his fingertips that come away, wet with fresh tears. He has not wept in many an age; not since the day he found Mythal, bloodied and mangled in her own Temple. That day he lost not only a dear friend, but his greatest ally in his war against the Evanuris. Sorrow was no longer a luxury he could afford. Even when he raised the Veil and sundered the world of the Elves, he did not weep, for it had to be done.</p><p>A loving hand cups his cheek, and his heart leaps into his throat, as he opens his eyes. She leans against him, a welcoming smile on her lips and part of him wants to succumb to this illusion. Because that is all it is; it is not truly her. Solas dismisses it with a thought, the image of her ghosting into nothing - he is not interested in pitiful substitutes.</p><p>He leaves the wood after a time and travels instead to Val Royeaux, pushing numbly through the crowded streets; searching for another stranger at the Ball. Then on to the Plains where they discussed a flock of birds, a blush sweeping her lovely face as he proposed a name for her.</p><p><em>Maera… my dream. Is that all she had been? </em>No, he believed she was real.</p><p>Futilely, he even tries the mount where she stood aghast at the sight of a high dragon feasting on Halla. In all these places he lingers - waiting, hoping, haunting; like a hollow spectre. Despondent at her absence, he touches the muzzle of the wolf statue she had patted with such affection. The memory of her hands threading through his own thick fur still burns bright and sends his pulse racing.</p><p>In desperation he begins to seek out Harrowings, watching mages succeed and fail; hoping that one day she might appear.</p><p>But she never does.</p><p>Solas remembers his promise, that he would always come to her, whether in the Fade or beyond. But he does not even know where to look in the waking world. He considers that perhaps Maera will not return to any of their familiar places. He wants to believe there is a reason for it, a rational explanation; he is not yet willing to accept that she does not want to be found.</p><p><em>Even if she does not dream, if she ever lived in the world, there would be memories of her,</em> he rationalises. Solas pictures her clearly, letting his desire loose into the Fade. Tendrils of consciousness spread out like feelers, through this realm of intention. He senses something; muted and vaguely familiar. Reminiscent of Maera, though not quite the same. Solas’ heart pounds at the feel of it, suddenly afraid to follow; to have his hopes dashed completely. He shifts through the Fade, allowing himself to be drawn toward this vague presence. Solas starts as he comes upon the Amaranthine coast.</p><p>The wind that bites his face and pulls at his robes is bitterly cold, snow crunching underfoot as he turns toward the City of Wycome. It is the wrong season for the memory he bought Maera to; when they watched the Griffon Riders take to the skies. He is struck with the sudden recollection of Maera’s expression, as she gazed out over the Ocean. It had been familiar to her.</p><p><em>She said nothing, but she </em>knew<em> this place.</em></p><p>The sound of clashing steel rings through the forest on the outskirts of Wycome, drawing Solas toward it. Lightning arcs through the woods and with it there comes the cries of wounded men. As Solas breaks through the trees, he finds a small pack of Dalish taking full advantage of the chaos, keeping a squad of Templars at bay. The elves harass the humans - striking swiftly at any weakness in the Templar’s defence - before melting back into the trees.</p><p>Though the Templars’ murderous intent is clear, the Dalish appear to be pulling their blows. Solas notes several moments where a Templar is caught alone, and the Dalish choose to merely wound or disarm them. Solas does not understand their hesitation. The Templar’s are the clear aggressors, haphazardly chasing the elves into the woods; a mistake that led to their current predicament. If it were Solas, he would not hold back; obliterating them if they refused to flee.</p><p>The bloody battle drags on - the Templar’s doggedly refusing to retreat, and the Dalish determined to hold them here; keeping them from pressing further into the forest. Solas can see it already, that the tide is about to turn, as the Templar’s gather their wits and regroup.</p><p>“To me, you dogs!” Their Lieutenant calls, and the Templars come together, forming an impenetrable wall of shields and plate mail. Whatever magic had scattered them in the first place has gone quiet, and Solas assumes the Dalish are trying to keep their mages safe.</p><p><em>Is Maera amongst them?</em> He dreads to hope. The Templars press ahead once again and predictably the Dalish retaliate. Only each time now, one or more of their number ends up dead in the snow. During their next strike a lone elf - a mage - seperate from the pack, dashes through the tree-line to flank the Templars.</p><p>“Faron, vegara!” A young Hunter cries out, as the Templar’s faceless, steel covered heads turn toward the mage.</p><p>“Vara!” He commands the remaining elves. “Shal'Amelan. Shala’lethal!” Though he is still clearly a youth, he speaks with bold authority and even the veteran Hunters listen, beginning their retreat.</p><p>“Lethallin! Ar’an tel’dian esayal sel’ma!” The same Hunter calls to him and is promptly pulled away by one of her companions. Faron seems shaken, but he quickly steels his nerve, glaring at the Templars that stand before him.</p><p>“I’m the one you want!” He shouts, unleashing a shockwave of magic that knocks the Templars from their feet. Then he is running again, leading the Templars back in the direction of Wycome.</p><p>“Forget the rabbits,” the Templar Lieutenant growls. “Get that abomination!” The Templars chase after the mage and Solas joins the hunt. He easily keeps pace with the long-legged, young mage, as he sprints sure-footed over the frozen ground. As Faron breaks through the trees he turns and throws up a wall of ice. His breath is laboured, but his face is a mask of grim determination and for a moment Solas is reminded of Maera; facing down a Pride demon with the same resolve.</p><p>Faron continues to flee, heading south along the coast. Not the wisest choice, if he was seeking to evade the Templars. The Templars make short work of their icy obstacle and if they discern Faron’s intent, Solas cannot say. It is apparent to him however, that the boy wishes to draw the Templars as far from his clan as possible.</p><p>The pursuers spread out as they move onto open ground, not providing so easy a target for the mage. With a clear field now between them and their prey, a pair of archers draw their bows, loosing a volley of arrows toward Faron. The mage hears them and turns to defend himself; deflecting the first with his staff and freezing the second so that it falls heavy from its arc. More arrows follow, the archers less interested in a killing blow than corralling the elf; distracting him so their comrades can close in. Faron sees them coming, but cannot turn and flee for fear of catching an arrow.</p><p>“You’re done boy, come quietly to the Circle now, or perish.” The Lieutenant urges impatiently, as his men begin to surround Faron, blocking any escape.</p><p>“Vir revas Elvhen, tel’vaslasa!” Faron cries, throwing up a barrier and preparing to make his final stand. The Templars press in, fortifying the area against magic, and Faron’s barrier weakens, eventually failing beneath their onslaught. The youth does not falter, striking at the encroaching enemies with the bladed end of his staff. He is no match for their swordplay, however, and the end comes swiftly, as one of the faceless warriors runs him through. Faron falls to his knees and he chokes back a pained cry; dark, sweat-soaked hair falling across his defiant eyes.</p><p>“Falon’din, ma ghilana mir din’an,” he grinds out, as he grabs the blade that pierces his core; rearing back to spit blood at the Templars with unquenchable hatred. The killing blow comes from behind and Faron slumps over, lifeless in the snow.</p><p>Solas knows this moment has already passed, and if he were to witness it again, there was every chance the Templar’s would be cast as the shining defender’s of humanity; the Dalish as savage, immoral monsters. That was the nature of the Fade - perception and belief held more weight than truth. Nevertheless, he understands now how Maera felt watching the Halla. Standing by helplessly; unable to intervene, as ignorant humans cut down this brave, unyielding child - it is gut-wrenching. Faron was dead, that was a truth that was immutable.</p><p>“Burn it before a demon takes possession,” the Lieutenant says dismissively, as he turns toward Wycome.</p><p>“Do we track down the others,” one of his troops asks.</p><p>“They’ll be long gone, forget about them. We’ve got bigger problems with all the damn refugees.”</p><p>Solas watches as Faron’s body burns to ash, wondering why the Fade called him here. Is Maera nearby, is she related to this boy? He sweeps back toward the forest, retracing the path of the hunt to the clearing, where more Dalish lie forgotten on the ground. He presses deeper into the woods, and eventually he finds evidence of their recently abandoned camp.</p><p>Solas follows the tracks made by their aravels, and he comes upon them, driving far from civilisation. The defending Hunters have rejoined the main clan. Their wounds are barely tended, refusing to rest as they take the rear; vigilant against potential pursuers.</p><p>Solas stalks amongst them, searching the tattooed faces for any sign of Maera. He does not think she would actually be any of the Hunters, even though that is how she presented herself. Any Dreamer of her skill would undoubtedly be a mage. The Hunters themselves are certainly as fierce as Maera, bristling with weapons and dangerous grace. Solas is surprised by the sheer number of them, as they stretch out in formation around the main column; the size of this clan is larger than he expected. They could have easily wiped out the small squad of Templars, but had chosen to utilise only a small fraction of their warriors. Solas puzzles over this decision - had they no pride in themselves? How could they allow humans to brutalise them without retribution?</p><p>It is a sombre caravan that pushes through the snow, even small children remain grim and silent in the back of the aravels. There is a strong familial resemblance amongst most of the clan - given to fair, ruddy complexions, with coppery shades in their hair. Aside from Faron, he cannot find anyone that even remotely takes after Maera.</p><p>“We cannot just leave!” Solas recognises the voice of the young Hunter from the clearing, as he approaches the head of the column.</p><p>“Enough,” a wizened voice responds sternly. “Faron already disobeyed me. We are greatly diminished by his loss.” Solas regards the Keeper. She is a short woman of advanced years, with the calm, confident bearing of an experienced leader.</p><p>“And <em>alive,</em>” the Hunter returns heatedly.</p><p>“I will risk no more of the clan today, Da’len,” the Keeper interjects with finality. “When we are safe and settled, you may see to their remains.”</p><p>“How can you speak as though he is already dead?” the youth retorts with scorn, glancing toward the elder Hunter that walks beside the Keeper. He gives her a barely perceptible shake of his head, and she finally acquiesces with a stiff nod, striding away toward the rearguard.</p><p>The Keeper pins the old Hunter beside her with a pointed look, and he gives a chagrined grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. Once he must have been a mighty warrior, but time marks him clearly. From the stoop of his shoulders, to the haggard lines of his face. It is horrifying to Solas. Even though he expended all his power raising the Veil, his body remains strong and reliable. Time is all that is required to replenish his magic - time is his familiar, welcome companion. Not this wretched thief that steals all power and dignity.</p><p>“I will chastise her later. It’s-” he puffs his cheeks out, as he exhales sharply. “They don't truly understand, why we can’t just kill every shem that raises a hand against us. They’ve never even seen Dirtha’varen.” The Hunter’s jaw tightens obstinately, and the Keeper’s mouth purses sourly at the sight of it. Solas gets the feeling he has walked into the middle of a bitter, old argument.“We raise them to have pride in themselves; their people; their history. We build their whole identity around never submitting to the rule of shems, and then tell them they cannot fight tooth and nail, giving their all. They have no concept of war, nor how vast the shem empire’s truly are.”</p><p>“We also raise them to trust and respect their Elders. You would have me ignore such blatant disrespect?” She retorts without anger.</p><p>“No,” the Hunter replies resignedly. “But we were young once too, if you recall.” He grins, a private memory passing between them, and the Keeper scoffs.</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” she shakes her head. “Is Faron…” The Keeper asks sadly; deferring on the matter of the young Hunter’s impudence.</p><p>“Ir abelas, I do not think he will return. They say he gave his life for you, to draw the Templars away,” the Hunter replies.</p><p>“For me, you think?” She looks over her shoulder, wryly amused despite her sadness. The sparkle in her eyes draws Solas in closer, scrutinising her intently. There are shades of Maera within it, but nothing else about her feels right. The Hunter sighs, also looking toward the rear of the column.</p><p>“I did not think Wycome would be so hostile, much has changed since last Winter.”</p><p>“The rumours of Blight in Ferelden are true it seems.” The Keeper replies grimly. “Though for the hysteria to have spread this far is unexpected.”</p><p><em>Blight, which Blight? Is this memory recent?</em> The sudden thought grips Solas in panic and he races back to the clearing. He picks through the snow for the fallen Dalish, pulse racing with every body he finds. He studies their faces and only one bears Mythal’s Vallaslin. Freshly marked on a boy so young, he must have only just come of age. Maera is not here as far as he can tell and his heartbeat steadies again.</p><p>Perhaps he was mistaken, maybe she wasn’t even amongst this clan and was instead in the Wycome alienage. That makes little sense to him however, Maera was unmistakably Dalish. Solas decides to try tracking her again, phasing through the Fade until he stands on a familiar bank, overlooking the Minanter River.</p><p>Solas falls to his knees at the sight of it - exactly as he remembers - the hot summer air thick and suffocating around him. He almost expects to turn and find Maera beside him; laughing with blossoms tangled in her hair.</p><p><em>“Ma gael’rahnis.”</em> He grits his teeth, choking back a sob, as his hands claw at the earth. Is there no way to fill this aching emptiness inside him? <em>Why does she not return to me?</em> Solas struggles back to his feet; weeping in a quivering mess is not going to solve anything. He trusted Maera - there <em>must</em> be a reason she cannot find her way to him.</p><p>Halla paddle in the river to drink and find relief from the oppressive heat. Amongst them, Dalish children splash and play, carefree voices ringing across the bank. The same clan is camped nearby, aravels arranged in a loose circle. At the edge, overlooking the water he finds the Keeper, only she is somewhat younger now. Solas sits near her small campfire, watching her intently as she grinds herbs in a mortar, preparing ingredients to brew a potion.</p><p>“We’ll be ready to depart in the morning,” the same grizzled Hunter announces as he approaches the Keeper; not entirely in his prime, but not yet completely ravaged by old age. He takes a seat near Solas. “Should make the Arlathvhen before the month is out.” The Keeper looks up from her work and smiles at the Hunter.</p><p>“Very good. I’ll have this potion ready for Midha soon.” She informs him, as she carefully measures the appropriate reagents and adds them to a cauldron, its contents bubbling over the fire. “I hope he has learned a lesson, to not hunt alone before he is ready.”</p><p>“I doubt it, he’s a stubborn lad.” The Hunter shrugs. A terrible squalling sound approaches from behind Solas, and the two Dalish laugh as they spy another elf carrying a dirty, squirming child in his arms.</p><p>“Where did you find this wolf-child, Shalelan? Did it eat your daughter?” The elder man calls out to his fellow Hunter.</p><p>“I won’t!” the child shrieks, as her father carries her toward the river.</p><p>“Da’len you are filthy, you need a wash,” Shalelan chides wearily.</p><p>“Stubbornness seems to be an inborn trait around here,” the Keeper observes wryly, and the Hunter chuckles as they watch Shalelan battle his obstinate offspring. There is a shout, and a loud splash echoes up from the river.</p><p>“Fenedhis!” Shalelan gasps as he resurfaces in the river, drenched and wiping the water from his face in frustration. His daughter scurries away, making directly for the Keeper’s campfire and hiding behind the old Hunter.</p><p>“Don’t think I’m going to hide you, rodhair’len.” The Hunter smirks and an impish, gap-toothed smile breaks over the girl’s mud-caked face.</p><p>“Babaela, I was tracking a boar.” The child whispers to him, her eyes glittering with pride. Once again, the earnest, joyful expression reminds Solas of Maera.</p><p>“More like you were rolling around in the mud with it, I think.” The Hunter says, digging his fingers into her sides and making her giggle. “A good Hunter stays clean though,” he admonishes the small elf, “otherwise the prey can smell you coming.” The child sighs, crestfallen.</p><p>“Alright,” she concedes and shuffles back to the river, shoulders downcast.</p><p>“Seriously?” Shalelan mutters in exasperation, passing the child as he squelches toward the campfire; sitting down to pull off his soaking boots. Solas stands, taking one last look around the Dalish camp. He is perplexed by what he has seen here. There is an unmistakable sense of Maera amongst this clan. An indefinable presence, though she herself cannot be found.</p><p><em>Perhaps she does not wish to be found.</em> He has been stubbornly avoiding the thought. <em>Is she truly that powerful?</em> To be able to hide herself from Fade memory. It was possible, Solas knew - he had done as much himself in the past. <em>Has she come to hate and fear me so?</em> Upon returning to the waking world - free of the blissful cloud of their shared dream - had she re-evaluated her feelings? In the cold light of reality, seeing her people scattered and suffering, and being reminded of his role in that, it may have turned him from her favour.</p><p><em>That at least, I may be able to rectify</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Ar’an tel’dian esayal sel’ma - We won’t stop searching for you<br/>Babaela - Grandfather<br/>Da’len - little one<br/>Falon’din, ma ghilana mir din’an - Falon’din, guide me into death<br/>Fenedhis - damn it<br/>Ir abelas - I’m sorry <br/>Lethallin - a close friend<br/>Ma gael’rahnis - You are everything, my all, you complete me : beyond measure<br/>Rodhair’len - Little rascal<br/>Shal'Amelan. Shala’lethal! - Save the Keeper. Save the Clan!<br/>Vara - go<br/>Vegara - come back<br/>Vhenan - heart<br/>Vir revas Elvhen, tel’vaslasa - We free people, will never submit</p><p> </p><p>And a preview of the next chapter:-</p><p>“Don’t fight me, vhenan.” Lani freezes, tingles running the length of her body from the whisper against her ear.</p><p>	<i>Oh, that silken voice! </i></p><p>	“I would never hurt you.” She turns over to look up at him, his grey eyes brimming with tender love, bringing her undone.</p><p>	“Solas,” Lani sobs, her insides shattering with such conflicting emotion.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Faded Off This Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>NSFW<br/>Lani continues to re-adjust to being back in the physical world and - after a nightmare - has a conversation with Josephine about romance.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just an additional warning with this chapter, that there is a brief section containing elements of horror and a character being restrained without consent, in a sexual context.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lani looks to the tray Cassandra had brought up, taking the lid off the little pot in the middle. A hearty stew still steams inside, and though she had not thought she was hungry, the savoury smell has her mouth watering. Suddenly she is ravenous and the dish is hastily devoured.</p>
<p><em>Glad Cass didn’t stay to witness that</em>, she chuckles; embarrassed by the speed at which she’d wolfed it down. Cassandra was right though, she did feel better having eaten something substantial. Lani pushes up from the settee, gingerly testing her weight on her legs. The shaking and vertigo has passed, but she stills feels strangely heavy. Or - more accurately - that the world presses weightily against her. She shuffles over to the mirror to try and see what had Sera so unnerved earlier, but to her eyes she seems no different. In fact, she feels like she is the only thing that looks <em>right</em> anymore.</p>
<p><em>When did reality become unreal?</em> Lani chortles at the absurdity of it.</p>
<p>Undoing the clasps on her jerkin, Lani sinks on the edge of the bed. It had been jarring at first, to see things that were so familiar to her, now changed in subtle ways. Everything and everyone else seemed heavier; more tangible; sharper in focus. The disjointed sensation was passing though, and Lani presumed she was adapting to this new way of viewing the world. Shrugging out of her clothes, Lani feels a hard weight shift against her chest. She freezes, her heart beat stuttering, as her eyes drop. There it sits - the wolf’s-head pendant - nestled against her cleavage. Her first instinct is to tear it off and throw it over the balcony rail, but as her hand closes over it, the resolve drains out of her.</p>
<p>It is so real and solid in her hand. Lani had brought objects back from the Fade before, after she fell into the rift at Adamant. But this, she had not even consciously thought of it; had not willed it to form after her spirit merged with her body. Then again, she had not actively thrown up the barrier around herself either. Much of what occurred in the Fade was driven by instinct it would seem. In the same way that her hand seemed incapable of wrenching this cursed trinket from around her neck.</p>
<p><em>How could he read my mind, when even I could not recall who I was?</em> she ponders. Lani doesn’t truly understand everything that occurred in the Fade. How it came to be that her broken spirit - tethered to her, bound to her will - managed to develop a will of it’s own, very nearly refusing to return to her. Yet it <em>was</em> Lani - the Pride demon had confirmed as much; detecting secrets held deep within. Fen’Harel would surely be just as capable as a demon, at detecting those suppressed memories and desires.</p>
<p><em>Why was he always pushing her for information then? So resentful of her inability to share who she was?</em> Perhaps he was, as Dorian surmised, merely a lesser demon masquerading as Fen’Harel. Stringing her along and waiting for her to set him free. It seemed a strange form to choose though - the Great Deceiver - if he was trying to gain her trust. It was maddening, she could argue herself in circles forever thinking about this. The bigger question was, why was she so determined to argue in the first place? Lani flops backwards on her bed, hands pressing over the pendant; cradling it against her chest.</p>
<p><em>Solas might-</em> Her shoulders begin to shake with silent, rueful laughter at the half-formed urge, to seek out Solas in the Rotunda. She can think of no-one better to provide insight into the Fade. Mere weeks ago she could have. <em>In another life,</em> she grimaces bitterly, her shaking mirth morphing into grief.</p>
<p>“Lani, you are a great fool,” she admonishes herself angrily. Fresh tears sting her eyes and she blinks them away, only for more to form in their place - relentless. Eventually the well of her sorrow runs dry, and she lies, gasping and spent; drifting toward the place she does not wish to go.</p>
<p>She rolls to her feet and shakes the weariness from her body, afraid to enter the Fade. She finishes taking off her jerkin, and as she lays it over the end of her bed she realises with mounting panic that her room looks different. She is light on her feet again and everything has returned to that soft, wispy focus she has become so accustomed to.</p>
<p>“Oh no.” Lani mutters, realising she has in fact fallen asleep. Pushing aside her fear, Lani tries to remain calm and rational. She does have to sleep sooner or later, and this is tolerable so far. All she has to do is try not to have any stray thoughts, or go wandering to places where she might run into Fen’Harel. “Yes, easy. I can do this.” The pounding of her heart betrays her lack of confidence. Lani paces around her room, not sure how she will pass the time.</p>
<p>An idea strikes her, and she thinks about playing Wicked Grace with her friends. A table appears in the centre of the room, with dream versions of Varric, Dorian, and Sera sitting around it inspecting their cards. Lani takes the empty seat, pleased with her clever idea. She picks up the hand that Varric has dealt and her face falls. To her horror, every card in her hand has the face of a black wolf, its crimson eyes glittering at her.</p>
<p>“<em>Fene</em>-” Lani nearly bites her own tongue to cut off the curse. Now is not the time to be invoking words - or thoughts - that might inadvertently summon Fen’Harel.</p>
<p>“We haven’t even placed bets yet and you’re giving away your hand. Do we need to explain the rules to you again, Lani?” Varric chuckles. Lani shakes her head, trying to quell the panic rising in her. Her friends place their bets and the game begins in earnest. When her turn to draw comes, she pulls yet another wolf from the deck. She tosses it to the side and pulls another, then another. Frustrated she upends the entire pile, wolves scattering across the table.</p>
<p>“Now now, there’s bending the rules and then there’s blatant cheating!” Dorian exclaims.</p>
<p>“Oi!” Sera shouts as Lani grabs her hand, twisting the cards to reveal more blood red eyes.</p>
<p>“No, enough!” Lani wills the card game away and her friends dissolve into mist. Lani’s mind had been blank, she was sure of it and yet still it betrays her.</p>
<p>A heavy shadow lands behind the balcony doors and Lani starts, turning with trepidation as they swing open. A griffon looms large, barely squeezing onto the terrace, and Lani gapes wide-eyed, as Warden Garahel strides into her room.</p>
<p>“The Archdemon has been sighted over Ayesleigh. The Wardens are mustering for the final charge.” He announces, as he removes his helmet and gloves, tossing them onto her desk. “I must join them, but I could not go without seeing you one last time.” A traitorous little trill radiates through her body at his ardent declaration. His quiver and bow clatter down too, and he begins to work on his belt, his radiant green eyes burning into her with such heat that her knees turn to jelly.</p>
<p>“This is madness.” Lani rasps to herself, abruptly conscious of her half dressed state. She turns from him, covering herself with her arms.</p>
<p>“We always knew this day might come.” Garahel whispers, suddenly behind her, his fingers brushing across her shoulder. He wraps his arms around her, bare chest pressing firmly against her back.</p>
<p>“I don’t want this!” Lani shouts, squirming from his embrace and trying to scurry around him.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, but you knew I was a Warden. You knew there was a chance I might never return.” Garahel pleads with her, hurt etched over his handsome face.</p>
<p>“Don’t touch me.” She snarls, dodging his grasping hands.</p>
<p>“You would spurn me, my love? In my final moments?” He tries to close in on her and she scoops up her shoes, pelting them at him. “Grief has indeed driven you mad!” Garahel exclaims, as he easily dodges the projectiles and cuts her off, as she tries to run for the stairs.</p>
<p>“Gara’vara anbanalera!” Lani jumps away from him, Garahel’s fingers grazing her, but ultimately catching empty space. <em>Fenedhis he is fast.</em> Almost as though he is shifting through the dreamscape, to be exactly where he will inflict the most terror. <em>Can’t outrun my own mind</em>, she notes with panic.</p>
<p>She leaps onto the settee, grasping the balustrade, as she prepares to vault down the stairs. His strong hands close around her waist, wrenching her backward and they fall to the floor. Garahel’s long legs wrap around her, trapping her own. She bucks and thrashes, as he tries to snag her arms.</p>
<p>“Don’t fight me, vhenan.” Lani freezes, tingles running the length of her body, from the whisper against her ear.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, that silken voice!</em>
</p>
<p>“I would never hurt you.” She turns over to look up at him, his grey eyes brimming with tender love, bringing her undone.</p>
<p>“Solas,” Lani sobs, her insides shattering with such conflicting emotion. <em>Not Solas. Fen’Harel</em>.</p>
<p>The real Solas had never looked at her this way. He declared that he loved her, but always he held back; kept part of himself closed off from her. Fen’Harel gave her his all and had not abandoned her; without so much as an explanation or farewell. She was the one that fled.</p>
<p><em>I abandoned him!</em> Guilt courses through her. Maybe it had all been a ploy, but - <em>What if his feelings were genuine? </em>Her heart quakes at the thought.<em> But Fen’Harel did not look at </em>me<em> this way either.</em> The realisation crushes her. <em>If he felt love, it was for Maera - not me. </em>He pulls her tight against him, as though he can sense her despair.</p>
<p>“Ara’satha, do not cry.” So gently he strokes her hair, a thumb swiping across her wet cheek.</p>
<p>“Sui’Fen,” she laughs through her tears, happy to just live in the moment. To lose herself in this fantasy and let her worries wait for the cold light of day. Is this not what dreams are made of?</p>
<p>Lani surrenders completely, as he grasps her face, pulling her into a tender kiss. Solas cradles her, as he rolls her beneath him, her body thrumming at his touch. She arches into his mouth, as it trails down her, tongue swirling over her belly. Deft fingers hook inside her breeches, shimmying them down her legs. Lani bites her lip, whimpering as his hands brush along her thighs, firmly coaxing them apart. The smouldering look he gives her - that knowing smirk - has her melting into a puddle of desire, as he nuzzles his face into the cleft between her legs. His tongue rasps along her folds and she cries out; the barest touch from him quickly bringing her to the heights of ecstasy.</p>
<p>She quivers, as he moans against her, pleased by her eager sounds. Every muscle in her body tenses, her toes curling, as his tongue swirls and laps at her relentlessly. When he thrusts it inside her, she grasps at his head in a frenzy. Lani’s fingers tangle in thick, matted fur and she looks down in a panic. Blazing red eyes glare back at her from the face of a snarling beast. Its spittle coated maw hinges open to reveal razor sharp fangs. With a growl, those vicious jaws snap closed around her and Lani sits up in bed with a shriek. Her heart hammers in her chest, sweat running down in rivulets, as she kicks her legs, trying to free them from the tangled bedding.</p>
<p><em>Creators</em>… She groans, as she hugs her knees to her chest, letting her head fall against them. <em>No. Sleep. Ever. Again.</em></p>
<p>“Lani?” Her head snaps up, bleary eyes falling on Cassandra, hovering anxiously at the top of the stairs.</p>
<p>“You’re su-supposed to be sleeping!” Lani’s admonishment comes out as a hiccuping sob, her anger swept aside by guilt and relief.</p>
<p>“As are you.” Cassandra returns, hurrying over to the bed. She kneels next to Lani, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>“No.” She replies, her voice muffled against Cassandra’s shoulder. The Seeker does not speak, but Lani hears her disgruntled, near silent sigh. “I’m not being difficult,” Lani protests as she pulls back to level Cassandra with an earnest stare. “I just need time to gather my wits.” Cassandra inclines her head, conceding to Lani’s request. The Seeker shifts uncomfortably, trying to relieve stiff muscles. “Cass… were you hiding on the stairs?”</p>
<p>“I was concerned,” she replies, rather sheepish. “Clearly I was right to be.”</p>
<p>“What is clear, is that you need rest as much as I,” Lani urges.</p>
<p>“You cannot expect me to leave you <em>now,</em>” Cassandra declares.</p>
<p>“Just sleep here.” Lani pats the mattress. “I need to change.” She crawls out of bed, peeling off her sweat soaked clothes, as she heads to the wash basin. Behind her, she hears the thud of Cassandra’s boots hitting the floor and the unbuckling of her sword belt. Lani smiles inwardly with satisfaction. Cassandra must be tired indeed, if she cannot muster any protest to this arrangement.</p>
<p><em>Or she’s that worried about me</em>, Lani realises with another twinge of guilt. She splashes her face with water, sponging herself with a wet flannel to cleanse away the nightmare. Retrieving her robe from the dresser, she wraps herself up in its comforting layers, nuzzling the high collar that still smells of lemon balm and elfroot. Her throat is scratchy and dry and she gulps down the tepid remains of the tea, grimacing at the astringent taste. Plonking wearily at her desk, she opens the drawer, searching for fresh parchment.</p>
<p>“Ahem…” Cassandra noisily clears her throat, sitting up to glare at her. Lani defensively raises her hands.</p>
<p>“I’ll come to bed soon, but I won’t be able to sleep til I clear my head Cass.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” Cassandra grumbles. “Do not be long.” Lani nods and waves Cassandra back to bed. She pulls a sheaf of paper from the drawer, becoming distracted as her fingers brush over it. Placing it on the table she runs her fingers back and forth, mesmerised by the texture of it; by all the fine fibres she can see. Lani shakes herself free of the spell, looking hurriedly toward Cassandra, but luckily her back is to Lani. She needs to be careful, if people catch her peering intently at mundane objects, they will think she truly has gone mad.</p>
<p>The familiar process of preparing a new quill helps calm her frayed nerves; centering her, as her small pocket knife deftly shapes the tip and clears excess barbs. When ready, she dips her pen into the ink well and exhales slowly, as she looks down at the blank parchment. Lani’s pen scratches furiously, as she pours out her thoughts and feelings onto the page, trying to excise them from her mind. She sits hunched over her desk for hours, searching for the right words and rearranging them. Slowly they form a pleasing cohesion, expressing her inner self; her own individual perspective.</p>
<p>Dawn finally breaks over the mountains, lightly slowly creeping across the floor of her chambers. Lani sets down her pen in surprise and rubs at her eyes. She rises from her desk and sneaks over to the bed to check on Cassandra. The Seeker is sleeping soundly and Lani repositions the quilt where it has slid off her, tucking it back over the tall warrior. Quietly shuffling the pages of her work together, she pads barefoot down the stairs in search of Varric.</p>
<p>Upon entering the Great Hall, she is caught by the soft sunlight and the way it strikes the stained glass windows. Prismatic rays scatter over her throne and across the floor. Even the motes of dust that swim through the air draw her in, looming large. Lani breathes heavily. The windows have always cast coloured light, but not with this intensity. It reminds her of the shimmering crystal towers of Arlathan; making her want to weep for that lost city and she turns her back on the dazzling array. She thought she was adjusting to this extreme new way of viewing reality, but clearly it was going to take more time to adapt.</p>
<p>Lani gives a warm nod to the sentries that stand guard in the Hall and glances toward the entryway. Varric is not yet in his preferred cosy corner. She doesn’t understand how he gets any work done with all the bustle in the Keep, but he seems to thrive on all the activity.</p>
<p><em>It is quite early</em>, she supposes, deciding against tracking Varric down in his quarters. Lani hears a rustling coming from Josephine’s office and she pokes her head through the open door. The Ambassador is kneeling by the fireplace, tossing folded letters in, one by one and watching them curl into ash. Lani clears her throat, stepping through the doorway, and Josephine turns with a startled gasp.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s you Sulahnean. How are you feeling?” Josephine dumps the remaining paper onto the fire and stands, smoothing out her clothes. Lani muses that in the past she<em> might</em> have been observant enough to note the slight redness around Josephine’s nose and eyes. Now however, it is glaringly obvious, along with the lines of stress that mar her face.</p>
<p><em>Interesting</em>, Lani muses. It might be useful to be able to read the subtle change in people’s faces. Especially ones that are normally so good at hiding their thoughts, like Josephine and Leliana. <em>Or Solas. </em>Lani wants to slap herself for the stray thought, but instead smiles at Josephine.</p>
<p>“Better. How are you?” She probes gently and Josephine awkwardly adjusts her hair. “Blackwall?” The Ambassador nods and moves to sit behind her desk. Lani joins her, settling into the opposite chair.</p>
<p>“I have decided to put an end to it,” Josephine declares, her face a mix of pain and indignation. “He was so outraged with me, that I had not told him you were missing.” Lani blinks blankly; she does not know any of what has transpired here while she was in the Fade. “The gall of him! To be upset with me over keeping secrets. I put aside all of my feelings over <em>his</em> betrayal and he can’t even try to understand my position. I don’t know what I was thinking, it was an imprudent affair.” Josephine waves her hands, as if it were that easy to dismiss such feelings.</p>
<p>“I know some people thought so, but does it matter, if you truly cared for one another?” Lani offers gently, uncertain of how to counsel Josephine, or if she even desires such.</p>
<p>“Maker, you sound just like Cassandra. Hopeless romantics the both of you.” Josephine smiles haphazardly to soften her remark. “Truly though, this was all for the best. It highlighted that we will always have differing priorities. As long as I work for the Inquisition, or anywhere really, there will be secrets I cannot share with him. And I will always be secondary to you,” Josephine confesses the last without recrimination, but Lani bristles defensively.</p>
<p>“I’m sure that isn’t true, I know he genuinely loves you, Josie.” Lani frowns.</p>
<p>“I know, but he is alive, only because of you. He is bound to you through a debt of honour.”</p>
<p>“I would never hold him to it!” Lani protests.</p>
<p>“No, but <em>he</em> does. I don’t think you realise Sulahnean, it’s not just his <em>life </em>you’ve granted him. You gave him back his dignity and his self-worth. I think to a man like Thom, the man <em>you</em> allowed him to be, duty and honour will always come before love.” She shrugs in resgination.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Josie.” It feels inadequate, but Lani does not know what else to say.</p>
<p>“It is not your fault. I let myself be swept up with the romance of it all, the thrill of forbidden passion. I did not think it through with a clear and objective eye.”Josephine’s words resonate with her and Lani clutches at the pendant through her robes. What would she see, if she actually paused to take stock of her romantic entanglements?</p>
<p>She thought Solas had come to respect her, but the way he had cast her aside, refusing to give <em>any</em> explanation, undermined that completely.</p>
<p><em>He didn’t even say goodbye! </em>She remembers with renewed fury. He only cared for her opinions when they aligned with his, otherwise she was to be scolded like an ignorant child. Through the entire affair he made it no secret that he loved her in spite of his better judgement. That their relationship was something shameful - almost <em>reprehensible</em> to him.</p>
<p>Lani realises it is all too easy to go to the other extreme, to try and see only the worst in him. Because ultimately it would be easier, if she could hate him, but she cannot ignore the moments of genuine tenderness.</p>
<p>Those times when he let himself relax, allowing her to peek behind the mask. Or that the reason he challenged her opinions so vigorously was because he wanted her to think and learn and grow. He seemed to understand that as the Inquisitor, as a person making world-shattering decisions, she had to examine her convictions and be certain her motives were righteous.</p>
<p>Never once did he coddle her, or try to hold her back, out of fear for her safety. Always gently encouraging her; urging her on and seemingly taking as much pride in her victories and achievements as she did. Everyone else was so quick to put her on a pedestal, while he kept her grounded. Others believed in her because she held a supposedly divine mark on her hand. Solas’ faith in her was built on her skills; her intelligence; her indomitable focus.</p>
<p>Lani sighs. She was talking herself around in circles again and look where that had gotten her last night. She shivers at the memory of her dream; perhaps deep down she already knows the truth of her relationships with Solas and Fen’Harel, and is being wilfully blind to the reality of it.</p>
<p>“So, what about you and Cullen?” Josephine asks her with sly amusement.</p>
<p>“What <em>about</em> me and Cullen!” Lani blurts out, flustered by the suggestion.</p>
<p>“You cannot be oblivious, everyone can see the way he looks at you.”</p>
<p>Lani groans, burying her head in her hands. “Is this one of those secrets, that <em>everyone</em> in Skyhold knows?” she mumbles.</p>
<p>“Pretty much,” Josephine winces sympathetically. “But really Lani, Cullen seems very sincere in his affections. Don’t you think you deserve to be happy. To be loved - <em>truly</em> <em>loved</em> - at least once in your life?”</p>
<p><em>I have been!</em> she wants to scream. She is surprised, not only by how deeply she believes it, but that she cannot tell exactly who makes her feel it so strongly. “It would not be fair to Cullen,” she says instead. “I could not use him like that.” Especially when she still feels so ill-used by Solas.</p>
<p>“I think Cullen might be quite open to being used at this point. He was running Bull and Thom ragged while you were gone.” Josephine laughs quietly and Lani bridles at the idea that everyone is sharing a joke at her and Cullen’s expense.</p>
<p>“No,” Lani insists firmly. “You might think that, <em>he</em> might even think that - but no. It would only end in heartbreak and I will not do that to someone I care about.”</p>
<p>“So you admit to having feelings?” Josephine continues doggedly.</p>
<p>“I do care. Not enough to be with him. But enough that I would not trifle with him in such a way,” Lani replies with a hint of irritation. No wonder Josephine flung herself into an inappropriate romance. She blushes, thinking of Fen’Harel. <em>You’re in no position to cast judgement</em>, she chides herself. Her body betrays her, as if to drive the point home. Despite the horror of last night’s dream, her nipples harden beneath her robe, her sex clenching with desire.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying there could be a chance there, for something genuine. True passion might grow in time if you are willing to try.” It seems Josephine will not be satisfied until Lani throws herself at Cullen.</p>
<p><em>Genuine?</em> Lani wants to scoff. Cullen would never have looked twice at her if she was merely a Dalish apostate. As with Cassandra, his admiration for her began as a distressing sort of worship. When they looked at her, they did not see Lani, but an analogue of their Maker. In time, she and Cassandra had managed to reach an understanding - sharing a mutual respect and affection. While she does not doubt that Cullen is <em>very</em> sincere in his attentions - he is nothing if not impossibly forthright - she doesn’t feel seen by him. No matter how well they have come to know one another, she remains an ideal to him. Lani is unsurprised that Andrastians cannot seem to see the distinction between worship and love.</p>
<p>“Now who is the hopeless romantic?” Lani returns sarcastically, deflecting with humour, and Josephine laughs.</p>
<p>“Alright.” Josephine acquiesces. “Just know that all we want is for you to be happy, Lani.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate that.” Lani picks up the roll of parchment from her lap and stands - deciding to retreat before Josephine recalls that there is probably a mountain of paperwork that Lani needs to catch up on. “You’ve given me a lot to think on.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p>
<p>Ara’satha - my delight<br/>Fenedhis - Damnit<br/>Gara’vara anbanalera! - Fuck off nightmare!<br/>Siu’Fen - sweet wolf<br/>Vhenan - heart</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Artifice Of Eternity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not entirely ready to set aside all thought of Maera, Solas resolves to combine both his search efforts, and the final stages of his plan to free the Elvhen from their long slumber. Unfortunately there is still much to do - power to be consolidated and careful traps laid, in preparation for the return of the Evanuris. Only then can he attempt to tear down the Veil.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With renewed resolve, Solas muses that - for once - destiny aligns with his carefully laid plans. He travels to a sanctuary, hidden deep within the Fade; a place he does not often venture. His visits over the last century have been brief, in part due to the difficulty of dividing his consciousness for any great length of time. He wishes he could have shown this place to Maera; but it would have enraged the Elvhen that dwelt here.</p>
<p>The Elvhen - the other reason for his self-imposed exile. His guilt and shame drives him away from the very people he sought to protect. Here, the remnants of his followers wander in Uthenera. Their collective will building a city to rival the beauty of any from ancient Elvhenan. Though the number of Elvhen dwindles with every passing age, many ancient spirits still visit here; happy to be amongst those that do not mistrust, or mistreat them. Those very spirits joyfully greet him as he returns, clamouring to hear of his journeys through the Fade.</p>
<p>“There will be time for stories in due course. I intend to stay a while,” Solas assures them. “But I have business to attend to first.” Most of the spirits scatter, but Sorrow and Regret shadow him yet, as he makes his way through the city.</p>
<p>Walking the broad, sparkling avenues, Elvhen freeze in their tracks at the sight of him. They maintain a safe distance and acknowledge him with a mix of awe and trepidation. Solas nods politely in return, trying his utmost to not take their unease to heart. These are his people and yet they hold him apart, fearing him almost as acutely as they once feared the Evanuris. He does not blame them, considering the things he has done. He’d promised them freedom; rallying them to his cause to prevent the Evanuris from destroying the world. Yet here they were; trapped in Uthenera, their Empire long faded from memory. Solas had wrought upon them the very doom he once warned against.</p>
<p>Even so, the hope of restoration remains and he is determined to see them free once more. Solas had accepted long ago - when he embraced the mantle of Fen’Harel - that he would never again truly belong among them. It mattered not, so long as his duty remained. His promise to Mythal - that he would always fight to protect her people, no matter the monster he would have to become.</p>
<p>At last, Solas reaches the grand park that sits at the heart of this place; searching there for his oldest companions. Fountains make music as he strolls past; wisps darting through the lush greenery. He is not surprised to find Eolas sitting beneath a willow, a flute in hand. Even after many thousands of years, Solas has not tired of the soulful music his friend coaxes from the instrument.</p>
<p>“Solas,” the elf utters by way of greeting. He sets aside his flute, as he watches Solas approach. “How long has it been? I’m afraid I’ve somewhat lost sense of time,” Eolas confesses sadly.</p>
<p>“Not long,” Solas replies with the smallest of frowns. It pains him to see Eolas so adrift - lost, without purpose. Solas has been wracked with guilt, at the idea of sending his friends out into the world, but perhaps it was actually a kindness. “I have a task for you and Enastarin. Have you seen him of late?” Eolas sweeps to his feet, tucking his flute into his belt and letting the sleeves of his robe fall over his hands.</p>
<p>“In the lake is where I last saw him,” Eolas informs him. Solas quirks an eyebrow, wondering what form the impertinent elf has taken on now. “It is an improvement,” Eolas states, as though he can read Solas’ thoughts, “you were fortunate to avoid his insect phase. Wasps; mosquitos; fleas. It was very <em>trying</em>.” Eolas glides ahead, tossing his long, dark braids over his shoulder. It is a challenge even for Solas, to match stride with the leggy elf. “You wish for us to help Sileahilan and Felassan?” he asks, divining Solas’ unspoken intent.</p>
<p>“No. Not exactly. Although Felassan’s lack of progress is disappointing.” Solas clasps his hands behind his back as he muses, <em>Had he erred in trusting him?</em> He lacked experience - relatively speaking - but Solas had gambled that Felassan’s youth and enthusiasm would help him thrive in a much changed world. “Your time could be better spent. I will let you judge whether he needs to be brought back into the fold.” They continue through lush grounds and cross over an arched bridge, to an island in the midst of the lake. Eolas cups his hands to his mouth and calls over the water.</p>
<p>“Enastarin!” Ripples appear on the surface, as something large and shimmering glides toward the island. A scaly head bobs up, glistening gold in the light, with delicate, frond-like tendrils sprouting from its head and neck. A pair of large, bulbous eyes regard the two elves on the shore with interest. “Solas needs us.” The creature snorts from its elongated snout, water spraying at them, and Eolas jumps back, berating the shapeshifter. “Enough of your games!”</p>
<p>It comes to the edge of the water, fronds becoming arms, as it rises from the lake. It coalesces into the shape of a devastatingly pretty elf, as he steps onto solid ground. Enastarin coughs and clears his throat, testing his voice, and Solas wonders just how long he has been swimming about in the lake.</p>
<p>“Games?” Enastarin jeers at Eolas. “The study of shape and form is no mere game. I’m surprised at you, <em>Eolas</em>.” Solas looks from one to the other - from Eolas’ baleful scowl, to Enastarin’s mocking grin. They have always been antagonistic - in truth, there are few that Enastarin does not annoy.</p>
<p>Maybe Solas imagines it, but their relationship seems more strained than he remembers. Perhaps it is not wise, to ask them to work together now, when they seem so sick of each other’s company. Though he is equally loathe to send them out alone, without a friend to turn to for support. Besides, he needs Eolas to temper Enastarin. For whatever reason, despite Enastarin’s open mockery, Eolas has always been the only one he ever truly heeds.</p>
<p>“And what brings the Dread Wolf back to our tedious company?” Enastarin asks with an impudent smirk, though his glittering eyes always seem to lack the warmth of genuine humour.</p>
<p>“It is time to wake up.” Solas states plainly and the golden elf regards him with a startled expression. “We have been long enough from the world.”</p>
<p>“Why would we want to return, it is a wasteland!” Enastarin protests.</p>
<p>“You may be content to remain here for eternity, but many Elvhen cannot. I would see them restored, rather than left to linger. To eventually fade away entirely.” Solas calmly explains.</p>
<p>“On that we have always agreed,” Eolas remarks grimly.</p>
<p>“If I knew you two were going to be so typically glum,” Enastarin pulls his face into a drooping mockery of Eolas’ sombre expression, “I would have stayed with the little fishies.” Eolas looks at him with long-suffering weariness and Enastarin cracks a winning smile, tickling Eolas’ ear canal with his finger. Eolas swats him away with an annoyed grimace.</p>
<p>“Back in the lake with you then.” The larger elf looms over Enastarin menacingly, but the shorter shrugs his lithe shoulders, unfazed by Eolas’ temper.</p>
<p>“Out amongst the savages then, is it?” Enastarin remarks, preening himself.</p>
<p>“I think you will find some of them to be quite resourceful, if self-interested, which we can use to our advantage,” Solas replies.</p>
<p>“So, get the lay of the land; build a network of connections and resources, and pave the way for your return?” Eolas looks to the far distance, his mind already churning over plans and potential setbacks. Solas lets out a small sigh; to see Eolas return so quickly to his old self is a great relief. He knew he could count on Eolas for the logistics, and when he put his mind to it, few could resist Enastarin’s insidious charm. “Anything else?”</p>
<p>“I want you to find a Dreamer,” Solas replies, keeping his features as neutral as he can.</p>
<p>“Take your pick,” Enastarin flicks a pointed finger from himself to Eolas.</p>
<p>“No, a <em>young</em> Dreamer,” Solas corrects.</p>
<p>“Hmph, so no-one of consequence then.” Enastarin sniffs in disdain, and Solas bristles at the remark, but reins in his emotions.</p>
<p>“On the contrary, she held an unusual amount of power.” He could tell them everything; that she was a woman of remarkable resolve and surprising tenderness. Clever and coy and curious. Still full of wonder and unmarked by the jaded listlessness that had taken over the Elvhen. Besides he wants to keep her to himself, his own private moment of joy. Deep down he knows, they would not understand - or approve - of his infatuation.</p>
<p>“This is the task you mentioned?” Eolas is studying him with great interest. “You think she might be a threat? To you?” Eolas seems skeptical.</p>
<p>“I prefer to think she might be an ally.” Even given the strange manner of her departure and her subsequent silence, Solas still holds out hope. “I know little of her however, other than she might be a Dalish elf. Possibly travelling with a clan in the Free Marches, the coastal area south-east of the Imperium.”</p>
<p>“I suppose we shall begin there then. It’s not much to go on, but we shall do our best.” Eolas gives him a courtly bow, and Enastarin pointedly crosses his arm, standing straight and rigid.</p>
<p>“I would avoid the region now called Fereldan, a Blight is on the loose there,” Solas cautions them. Eolas and Enastarin both flinch at the mention of that terrible corruption. Solas blanches too, as a sudden thought occurs to him.</p>
<p><em>What if Maera awoke in the midst of it? What if she is dead?</em> <em>Or worse, corrupted by the Blight?</em> The thought fills him with horror. Her beautiful spirit defiled, never to return to the Fade. Unbearable helplessness threatens to rob him of all rational thought. What can he do? He does not even know where to find her. If only she had told him something, <em>anything</em> about herself. Not for the first time he finds himself resentful of her stubborn reserve.</p>
<p>“We shall be on our way then.” Eolas snaps him out of his despondency. Solas nods and clasps their arms in farewell.</p>
<p>“Be well, I look forward to your updates,” he says, and his companions disappear from the Fade. Solas sits down at the edge of the lake, looking out over this last bastion of the People. It is less defined than when he was last here, yet still he believes there is time enough to set things right. Before this place also passes from memory, the Elvhen losing all sense of themselves and finally returning to the Ether. The spirits that had drifted after him settle around, their cloudy forms fondly snuggling up against him.</p>
<p>“Missed me, have you?” He asks them and they sigh in affirmation. “I’m sorry,” he says with genuine contrition. Wisdom had been right; Wisdom was <em>always</em> right. Solas is not ready to give up Maera completely, but he had forgotten the needs of his people. He does not regret the time they spent together - after all, what was a few decades delay in a plan that was millennia in the making? Perhaps it all simply was a dream. A passing moment where he could be someone else and forget his burdens, his responsibilities. “It seems I lost myself for a time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N - I'm currently struggling with a nasty head cold, so there may be a delay with next weeks' update. Just finding it rather hard to write and edit at the moment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Time Nor Tide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lani approaches Dagna in an attempt to understand her experiences in the Fade.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Varric is still absent from the Hall and Lani shuffles her feet, tapping the roll of parchment against her leg. She chews her lip, mulling over her conversations with Josephine, Cassandra and Dorian. They’ve all made good, rational points, but something doesn’t sit right with her. She can feel it in her gut. What Maera felt, what <em>she</em> <em>feels</em>, is not merely some shallow infatuation.</p>
<p><em>Nor a fever dream</em>, as Dorian had labelled it. From the perspective of everyone at Skyhold, it is plainly evident that she was only in the Fade for four days. But Maera’s memories, her experiences - the slow development of her affection - all point to a different truth.</p>
<p><em>“I know when you need to go,”</em> Cole had said to her. At the time she thought it was just his typically odd phrasing, but now Lani is not so sure.She needs to talk to someone that isn’t afraid to think outside the box. Lani heads for the Undercroft and sure enough, as she descends the stairs, she finds Dagna hunched over her workbench.</p>
<p>“If that’s my requisition for spider glands,” Dagna remains focused on her work, voice echoing through the vaulted space, “put them in the corner, thank you.”</p>
<p>“Ugh, spider glands?” Lani shudders and Dagna looks up.</p>
<p>“Oh Inquisitor, I didn’t know it was you,” she apologises, red-faced.</p>
<p>“Don’t mention it.” Lani waves away her concern. She takes a deep breath, holding it a moment, as she braces herself. “Dagna, I’d like to propose a hypothetical that… might sound crazy?” The dwarf turns to her now with rapt attention. “I went into the Fade again.”</p>
<p>Dagna’s eyes light up. “When?” The Arcanist pounces on her, turning over her hands and studying the length of her.</p>
<p>“I came back yesterday, apparently I was gone for four days and that’s-”</p>
<p>“Four days!” Dagna squeaks. “Can I take samples, <em>please</em>?” The dwarf peers up at her with glittering eyes, her hands clasped together in entreaty.</p>
<p>“Um… yes, I suppose you can have some of my hair, or…” Lani hesitates, unsure of what would actually be most useful.</p>
<p>“Hair, perfect, yes!” Dagna retrieves some jagged shears from her workbench and Lani balks at the sight of them. “Could you?” Hesitantly, Lani hunches down so Dagna can reach. The dwarf very gently takes a handful of hair and snips off a couple of inches. She motions that Lani should continue talking, as she rummages for a container to secure the precious sample in.</p>
<p>“Oh, perhaps my clothes would have been more useful?” Lani realises too late.</p>
<p>“I’ll take them too!” Dagna says eagerly.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Lani laughs. “Now, to the matter. I believe I was in the Fade for considerably longer. Time is not as fixed in the Fade, as it is in the material world.”</p>
<p>“It’s not fixed here either,” Dagna is quick to point out. “Didn’t you travel through time at Redcliffe?” Dagna carefully places the hair in a box.</p>
<p><em>Redcliffe…</em> Lani shudders in response to Dagna’s off-hand remark. Flashes of memory burst unbidden to the forefront of her mind. Terrible visions of the fate of her friends in that dark future; tortured, mutilated, infected. Chief amongst them is the agonising image of Solas, slowly succumbing to red lyrium. Lani’s heart thunders in her ears, as she paces away from Dagna. She presses her trembling hand against her breastbone, feeling as though an iron band is wrapping around her chest; squeezing tighter and tighter around her heart and lungs.</p>
<p><em>Could a god be so helpless?</em> Despite the crippling panic washing through her, the rational part of her mind continues to churn over; clinical and detached. Lani frantically gasps air into her dry mouth, jaw working like a landed fish. Her chest is burning, for no matter how hard she tries, she cannot seem to push her breath past the thick lump in her throat.</p>
<p><em>Get it together… you stopped it,</em> she reminds herself. Lani squeezes her eyes closed, shunting the painful memories from her mind. She wills herself to breathe slowly; in through her nose and out through her mouth. In and out, in and out - until her heart finally begins to quiet once more.</p>
<p>“I didn’t-” Lani clears her throat, letting out a final shaky breath, as she turns back to Dagna. Mercifully the dwarf is still busy, inspecting her hair samples with an unusual copper and glass apparatus. “Alexius and Dorian researched the spell for years. It only worked <em>because</em> of the Breach.” Lani shuffles back toward Dagna, swiping her sleeve across her sweat-beaded brow.</p>
<p>“Though the spell they cast was not unlike opening a rift. Or was it more like passing through an Eluvian?” Lani ponders aloud. For a moment she tries to recall the <em>feeling</em> of Alexius’ time spell, but it draws an immediate flash of Solas’ pallid, lyrium ravaged body to mind. Lani covers her eyes with her hand, breathing slowly until the wave of nausea passes. <em>Best to not think about Redcliffe</em>, she decides. Perhaps, in some instances, Cole’s actions had been a blessing after all.</p>
<p>“So you believe…” Dagna finally looks up from her sample, beaming with excitement. “That you opened a rift to the Fade, allowing you to pass not just out of physical space, but through time? That is… oh my goodness.” Dagna blinks, slowly processing what Lani has said. “You think Eluvians operate in a similar way? I understand they allow passage across vast distances, instantaneously? I haven’t been through the Eluvian, do you think Morrigan would let me study it?” Dagna fires off a quick series of questions, not even waiting for Lani’s replies, she is so caught up in her own thoughts.</p>
<p>“Dagna…” Lani tries to get her back on track.</p>
<p>“Morrigan had that Eluvian crafted in Serrault didn’t she? But cast the magic to activate it? She must have some working knowledge of the magic theory behind it then. Perhaps we should be asking her to-”</p>
<p>“Dagna!” Lani cuts in more forcefully.</p>
<p>The dwarf blushes, her hand flying to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I was rambling wasn’t I?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Lani assures her, “this is why I came to you, because I knew you’d be open to the idea. But I don’t want to talk to Morrigan about this.”</p>
<p>“Why not? She’d definitely have some insights, especially since she drank from the Well, who knows what knowledge she gained from it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>trust</em> Morrigan,” Lani states plainly. Especially not now that Lani knew the Geas was real and that Morrigan was bound to Mythal.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Dagna blushes again. She pulls her shoulders back, standing just a bit taller, a bit prouder than she had been.</p>
<p>“In fact, can we keep this just between us? I know you probably want to talk to other scholars, but it's too dangerous.” Lani frowns sternly.</p>
<p>“Of course.” Dagna taps her chin, “Do you have any idea what time you travelled to?</p>
<p>“Not specifically,” Lani sighs.</p>
<p>“What do you remember?” Dagna reaches blindly to pull a stool under herself, settling down to give Lani her undivided attention. Lani blushes as very specific - very intimate - memories wash over her.</p>
<p><em>These are not relevant! s</em>he chides herself. Lani can feel heat prickling all the way to her scalp, as she attempts to put aside thoughts of Fen’Harel. It is quite difficult, as almost everything she experienced in the Fade is tangled up with him.</p>
<p>“Toward the end, there was an active Blight. Hopefully, it was the Fifth Blight and there isn’t a new one raging somewhere that we haven’t heard about.” Lani says, mouth pursing grimly. “But I also saw a memory of Grey Warden Garahel during the Fourth. So some time after twenty Exalted or so.”</p>
<p><em>Garahel... Creators…</em> Lani’s ears are burning now too. Another flash of images intrude upon her thoughts. A hard, golden body; eyes like blazing pits; strong, demanding hands; razor teeth; a cunning tongue. A fever sweeps through Lani and she can’t decide which emotion is more potent - terror or lust. They mingle together, driving her body into a state of heightened arousal.</p>
<p>“That’s a potential window of…” Dagna squints as she calculates, seemingly oblivious to Lani’s flustered state, “…four hundred years - if we <em>are</em> assuming it was the Fifth Blight. Anything else that might narrow it down?”</p>
<p><em>Stop, stop, stop</em>, Lani chants to herself, quelling her rampant libido. “I saw Skyhold and it didn’t seem vastly different from when we first arrived. I might have been layering my own memories over the existing ones-”</p>
<p>“Wait, you can alter existing memories in the Fade?” Dagna interjects.</p>
<p>“Yes… I suppose it’s not much different than what happens when we dream,” Lani remarks and Dagna heaves out a wistful sigh. “Sorry, when non-dwarves dream. Mages usually have a greater sense of awareness. Ever since I received the Anchor though, I’ve been far more connected to the Fade.” She holds up her hand, the mark dormant for now. “I think being there physically, that also increased my ability to shape my spirit and move through the Fade.”</p>
<p>“What is that like, shaping the Fade?” Dagna asks in awe.</p>
<p>“It is… pure thought.” Lani recalls it clearly still. “Imagine that instead of physically crafting enchantments, you simply willed them into existence. Imagine deciding that you didn’t want to be a dwarf, but a dragon instead.”</p>
<p>Dagna’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull at the thought. “Did you change shape in the Fade?” she queries.</p>
<p>“Yes. I was a wolf for a little while.” Lani cringes, thinking of the otherform she had moulded her spirit into. An idealised Elven maiden. Impossibly tall and perfectly proportioned, with clear porcelain skin; whereas Lani was freckled and prone to redness. Maera possessed elegant, sculpted features, instead of Lani’s oval face and snub nose. She supposes that it was only natural, that her self-esteem had suffered a blow after Solas’ rejection. But she hates the thought that somewhere, deep down, this insecurity lurks. Believing that <em>maybe</em> - if only she had been prettier - he might have stayed.</p>
<p>“But did you… was it like being a wolf completely or- I’m sorry, we’re getting sidetracked.” Dagna tries to tamp down her excitement.</p>
<p>“I saw the Minanter River and it looked almost the same. I’m not sure how much it truly changes year to year, and the trees have always been ancient. Although…” Lani’s brows knit as she considers the memory.</p>
<p>“You’ve thought of something?”</p>
<p>“I thought it was a Fade memory, not mine,” Lani muses. “But thinking about it now, it reminded me of the year I became a fully-fledged Hunter. The year of the Blight, when our First, Faron died. Templars attacked us and he led them away. They chased after him and…” Lani’s throat closes up again, tight with emotion and this time she fails to hide her welling sadness from Dagna.</p>
<p>“You cared about him?” Dagna prompts gently.</p>
<p>“He was my friend, my family.” Lani states, though it is inadequate. Fondly she recalls the gangly boy from the Ghilain clan; serious and silent, as he returned with her clan after the Arlathvhen. She remembers thinking how sad she would have been, to leave her clan for another. Faron never complained, but nor did he smile or talk to anyone other than the Keeper. “He was very dutiful and studious, determined to be a responsible leader.”</p>
<p>“He sounds like you,” Dagna suggests and Lani barks a laugh, in spite of her sorrow.</p>
<p>“You didn’t know me as a child. My grandfather was our Huntmaster, and he probably indulged me more than was wise. I would never endanger the clan, but I was definitely…cheeky.”</p>
<p><em>That’s putting it rather mildly</em>, Lani smirks wryly. “I decided to make Faron feel at home. Which in my little head, meant roping him into mischief.” Lani shakes her head in wonderment. “I’m sure he must have thought I despised him. Why else was this kid endlessly tormenting him and trying to get him in trouble?”</p>
<p>“He figured it out though?” Dagna asks, laughing, and Lani nods.</p>
<p>“Yeah, we both did,” she says wistfully. In time, Faron had tempered her wildness and she had helped him loosen up. Especially when he learned that she knew <em>all</em> the best places in the Vimmark’s to find honey and sweet berries. “In my eighteenth Winter, we settled near Wycome to trade. We had heard rumours of Blight in Ferelden, from traders travelling the river before it froze. We were always wary of humans but, our Elders definitely underestimated how anxious the threat of Blight made them.”</p>
<p>Not to mention the tensions that were running high, as endless numbers of refugees fled across the sea, packing into every port city in the Free Marches. As each city filled beyond capacity, they had no choice but to finally close their gates. The unlucky late-comers would spill out in grim, desperate caravans, spreading all the way from Orlais to Antiva in search of sanctuary; bringing with them disease, poverty and crime.</p>
<p>“Istimaethoriel, our Keeper, always offered healing services to the local alienage elves, in exchange for craft goods. In the past it hadn’t been an issue, but the Templars were already in a frenzy about apostates coming into the city from Ferelden.” Lani shrugs, being hated was part and parcel of being Dalish. “We fled Wycome, but they pursued us relentlessly. Faron sacrificed himself to protect the clan.”</p>
<p>“Inquisitor, I’m so sorry,” Dagna says, all thoughts of the Fade forgotten. Lani feels a little guilty, this is not why she came to Dagna. She doesn’t know why this is all pouring out of her, but letting it out seems less painful than trying to quash the memories.</p>
<p>Lani had been numb for some time after Faron’s death, remaining focussed on getting the Clan moved and re-settled. Eventually, returning to the woods near Wycome with other Hunters, to see their dead properly buried. They never found Faron’s body.</p>
<p>Months later, she was hunting and found the most incredible Embrium blooming in the forest. It shimmered with magic, clearly fade-touched. Out of habit, she’d turned excitedly back toward camp, thinking it was just the sort of thing Faron would love to see. She passed no more than three steps when it hit her - Faron was dead and she would never see him again. Alone in the woods, experiencing complete emotional collapse, she had also found a painful clarity. As a child, she had never understood the knowing smiles on the faces of the adults in camp. Or the quiet look of approval from the Keeper, whenever she watched Lani and Faron sitting close together; laughing and conspiring in hushed tones.</p>
<p>Even Faron’s behaviour had begun to confuse her, changing after she received her Vallaslin. He had started to put a respectful distance between them, a polite formality that had never existed before. To Lani he was still that quiet, sensible, lost boy. She had thought, to Faron, she would always be that carefree, playful girl. But in that terrible moment she realised, his perception of her had changed. It seemed so obvious in hindsight, that he had begun courting her.</p>
<p><em>Because he wanted… and I didn’t know, that I wanted too</em>. Lani closes her eyes, settling the pain that simmers inside her, as she remembers<em>. </em>The resulting explosion had disintegrated everything in a three foot radius, the Embrium crumbling to ash. If she had been in camp, there was no telling how many of her clan she might have killed or injured. Istimaethoriel and the Hunters had come running at the sound of it. They found her in the centre of the scorched ring of earth, waves of heat still washing over her. The Keeper had managed to calm her; speaking gently and opposing Lani’s raw magic with soothing waves of her own, controlled energy.</p>
<p>
  <em>Faron… her friend… her dearest friend.</em>
</p>
<p>“Inquisitor?” Dagna asks.</p>
<p>“Oh, Dagna, I…” Lani opens her eyes, blinking back tears.</p>
<p>“You kind of disappeared there for a bit,” the arcanist says gently.</p>
<p>“In the Spring, my magic manifested,” Lani says, trying to put the awkward moment behind them, “and I became First.” Burdened then, with the responsibility that had always been Faron’s. Trying to live up to an impossible standard, that she had built all in her own mind.</p>
<p>“Your magic came quite late, by my understanding of these things.”</p>
<p>Lani nods. “If Faron hadn’t died, he would have been at the Conclave instead of me.”</p>
<p>“Now I’m not… sorry?” Dagna winces apologetically and Lani chuckles lightly.</p>
<p>“He was a great First. He probably would have made an excellent Inquisitor. If he hadn’t sacrificed himself for the Clan. Not like me, I-I didn’t… th-they’re all dead now.” Lani confesses.</p>
<p>“Inquisitor… I’m sure you did everything-” Dagna looks appalled.</p>
<p>“I didn’t,” Lani interjects. “I wanted to. To go and help them and then it… it went away.”</p>
<p>“Went away?” Dagna asks, her face twisting with confusion.</p>
<p>“The worry, the fear it… <em>Cole,</em>” she hisses. Lani thought she could forgive what Cole had done, for ultimately she had returned to Skyhold unharmed. But now, in this moment - the white-hot rage she feels - it was fortunate that he was safely in the Fade, and not here within her grasp.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Dagna gasps in fear, and Lani takes a moment to compose herself.</p>
<p>“I will be, sorry Dagna. There has been a lot going on, perhaps we can talk about it once we finish with this time travel business.” Lani sighs and laughs ruefully.</p>
<p>“Something funny?” Dagna’s brow creases, unsettled by Lani’s rapidly changing demeanour.</p>
<p>“I’ve just shared more with you in minutes than I have with anyone, since… before the Conclave. Once you start, I guess it’s hard to stop.” Though she was still working through what was her own reserve and what was Cole’s doing. “But let’s get back to the matter at hand.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Dagna half turns, pulling some instruments toward herself. “You believe that you opened a rift in space <em>and</em> time when you entered the Fade. But, it’s difficult to determine an exact time period in the Fade, because you could be altering any witnessed events with your own memories. So, aside from your <em>feeling</em> that you were in the Fade for a very long time, we cannot definitively prove that you did time travel.”</p>
<p><em>I suppose it doesn’t matter, what does proving it change in any case?</em> Lani sighs.</p>
<p>“Though you said there was a Blight at the end?” Dagna asks, absently tapping a pair of tongs against the bench as she ponders. “Which means you would have had to travel roughly eleven years to return here, to <em>now</em>. Did you do anything different, opening these rifts, compared to previous times?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t really aware of what happened going into the Fade. It was pure instinct. But opening the rift to return was a lot harder than other times.”</p>
<p>“Do you think you could do it again, you could take me with you!” Dagna’s eyes light up at the possibility.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry Dagna, I’d rather not.” Lani feels terrible, watching Dagna’s shoulders slump in disappointment. “I don’t want to go back into the Fade. I know that’s not the answer you wanted to hear.”</p>
<p>“No, I get it. The whole, rifts attracting demons thing is pretty off-putting.”</p>
<p>“That too. But time magic alone is scary, Dagna.” Lani says, hoping Dagna understands the dire consequences involved. “I don’t want people coming after me, hoping to mess about with time, or thinking they can replicate what I did.”</p>
<p>“Of course, I understand.” Dagna says earnestly. “Let me look over these samples, see if I can glean anything from them.”</p>
<p>“Ok, I’ll get my clothes sent down to you as well. Thanks Dagna.” The dwarf’s attention has already turned to her work, as Lani waves goodbye.</p>
<p>Lani smiles as she bounds up the stairs. In spite of the hardship and sadness that these past years have brought, she feels no regret. There was a whole wide, remarkable world; full of curious and fascinating people. Like Dagna, and her other friends in the Inquisition. Not to mention the wondrous, magical - and dangerous - places she could never even have dreamed existed.</p>
<p>Remembering Faron, thinking of what her life might have been, she feels a pang of guilt. She had not wished for him or her family to die; or for the Conclave to be destroyed. Lani flexes her left hand; she’d thought that proving that the Anchor had bent time would bring her peace of mind. That she wasn’t mad for believing she had been in the Fade far longer than everyone said.</p>
<p>But the reality of it - the possibilities it suggests - are unsettling. She considers what she would do, if she could wind back the clock and stop Corypheus; to undo all the suffering. If that choice condemned her to a sheltered life amongst the Dalish in the Free Marches, never seeing all those wonders, never meeting her new friends…</p>
<p><em>I could not do it</em>. Lani slumps back against the stairwell, stunned by the realisation. <em>I could never go back. </em>She would not even trade the heartbreak of Solas’ rejection, nor her time in the Fade. Slowly, she continues up the steps, surprised that she would feel this way. She knows that before her journey into the Fade, her perspective was different.</p>
<p>Lani had thought that the extent of Cole’s meddling was to relieve her of pain and fear. The truth however, seems far more complicated. The fact that he had stolen away her desire to help her clan, left her now questioning how many of her decisions as Inquisitor were entirely her own. Lani shivers at the thought and mentally kicks herself. Solas alone had championed Cole, and she - like a love-struck fool - had heeded him; instead of listening to the counsel of her other companions. A chill of terror rakes down her spine. What if Cole had not been acting solely out of misguided compassion, but at someone else’s behest?</p>
<p>Caught up in these troubled thoughts, Lani collides with an elven servant, as she passes by the entrance to the kitchens.</p>
<p>“Sorry, are you alright?” Lani asks contritely. Met with silence, she pauses to look questioningly at the elf. The girl is wide-eyed, her gaze flickering all over Lani with a sort of bemused awe.</p>
<p>“No-I mean, yes!” The elf replies with a little shake, remembering who she is talking to. “Yes, your Worship! Excuse me.” She scurries away from Lani, hurrying to whatever task she was meant to be about. Lani watches her go and the elf turns to look at her again. She gasps when she finds Lani still watching her and rushes out of the Hall.</p>
<p><em>What is that about?</em> Lani frowns, watching the girl disappear. <em>I need to talk to Sera.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. The Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Solas awakens in the physical world, the time has come to restore the world of the Elvhen. There is only one potential snag - The Orb of Destruction.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a strange sensation, the feeling of real air in his lungs; the way it shifts and flows over his body. These motions are mimicked in the Fade, but are ultimately superfluous. Solas’ eyes flicker open, the ceiling comes into focus and then a familiar face looms over him.</p><p>“Eolas,” he croaks, his throat scratchy and dry. Eolas offers him a hand, helping him sit up.</p><p>“Welcome back, Solas.” The dour elf greets him. His expression is sombre - as though there is no happiness to be had in this reunion. Solas slides from his resting place, slowly rising to his feet. Eolas steps aside and returns, handing him a mug. Solas sips the wine, the fragrant liquid bringing immediate relief to his throat. He does not recognise the flavour and he quirks an eyebrow at Eolas.</p><p>“A Tevinter vintage,” Eolas informs him. “The closest we could find to any of ours. Undoubtedly because they stole the knowledge from us, and do not balk at using magic in the crafting of it.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Solas hums in contemplation and drains the mug. It seems there will be many adjustments to be made, if what he suspects holds true. “Shall we be about it then?”</p><p>Together, they quit his sleeping chamber and make their way through the halls of Isenathaman. The fortress stands strong against the ravages of time. Woven with powerful wards by Mythal herself, it is as pristine as the day he passed into Uthenera. At least he had the forethought to bring his followers here, sparing them the destruction that had befallen the rest of the Elvhen when he raised the Veil. One happy outcome, amongst all the bad.</p><p>“Do you think you will succeed?” Eolas asks him, as they descend a curving staircase, plunging into the bowels of the fortress.</p><p>“I am not without hope,” Solas replies. At last they reach the bottom, coming into a vaulted chamber. In the centre, set in a sunken floor, an ornate pedestal arcs with power. Green light flashes across the polished stone, casting ominous, jagged shadows. Even now, the Orb draws energy to itself and Solas laments that he could not replenish himself with such ease.</p><p>“The moment of truth,” a lilting voice remarks and Solas turns aside to spy the unexpected interloper. A human leans idly against the wall, clothed in an ostentatious array of ruffles and colour. Solas snarls, rounding on Eolas in anger.</p><p><em>A human in this sanctuary!</em> The betrayal, the abject foolishness. Eolas merely frowns with familiar disdain and Solas turns back to the human, eyes narrowing. The human smirks with gleeful satisfaction.</p><p>“Ah,” Solas utters, as comprehension dawns on him. “That is unsettling,” he remarks and the human morphs into Enastarin. “Is it difficult?”</p><p>“Only if I desire to imitate one in particular. Otherwise, one simply needs to think like a human.” Enastarin’s handsome face cracks with a derisive leer, “Which is to say, not at all.”</p><p>“No great stretch for you then,” Eolas quips dryly.</p><p>“Ha!” Enastarin barks with genuine amusement. “A sense of humour, at long last,” he retorts, unfazed as always by Eolas’ derision.</p><p>“It <em>has</em> been a useful trick,” Eolas admits and Enastarin coos with delight at the grudging praise. “Though they do find him unfathomably charming,” Eolas continues snidely, “humans are disinclined to take elves seriously.”</p><p>Solas nods and steps toward the pedestal. He lifts the Orb from its cradle and he can feel the immense power of it tingling against his palm. Hope flees from him; he does not even need to make the attempt to unlock it, to know that he will fail. His shoulders slump in defeat and his companions let go the breath they were holding.</p><p>“As you anticipated,” Eolas says plainly.</p><p>“It is even more powerful than I expected. We shall have to find another with the means - and the foolishness - to unlock it.” Solas places the orb back on the pedestal. It is not the end, merely a set-back.</p><p>“We are all of us so <em>reduced,</em>” Enastarin laments, giving voice to their disappointment.</p><p>“Creating the Veil was no small feat.” Eolas, as always, is quick to Solas’ defence. “But this is why you sent us ahead, is it not? We’ve spent the past decade preparing for this.” Solas nods. “Our movement is unfortunately still rather limited, due to Felassan’s failure to secure part of the network. Many Eluvians have also simply been destroyed.”</p><p>“He has paid dearly for that failure,” Solas scowls. “I will rectify it.” Eolas’ trademark furrow deepens further, but he gives no voice to his grievance. Enastarin however, cannot resist sowing discord. </p><p>“There are so few of us left, was his crime even so great?” His feigned concern is so obvious, it provokes Solas; enraged that he would use Felassan’s death for his own petty games.</p><p>“Felassan turned from us, for the sake of witless creatures,” Solas snarls. “His actions directly affect our ability to <em>save</em> those few of us that remain.” Felassan’s death does grieve Solas deeply, but he put mortals before the People.</p><p>“Those creatures have their charms, you’d be surprised,” Enastarin retorts impudently. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t. You told us very little about your Dreamer.”</p><p>“Enastarin…” Eolas warns.</p><p>“Dalish wasn’t she?” Enastarin barrels ahead recklessly. “Their kind curse Fen’Harel. Did she know what you are? Or perhaps that was part of the appeal?” he suggests snidely.</p><p>“I thought she might be the one to unlock the Orb,” Solas replies, tight-jawed at the effort to remain calm. He refuses to give Enastarin the pleasure of unsettling him further. The lie falls too easily from his lips, the first of many no doubt. <em>“Maw dripping poison.” </em>Perhaps Maera had known him better than she realised.</p><p>“Ah, a sacrifice then?” Enastarin gives a stiff bow. He does not look entirely convinced, but he drops the matter, and Solas lets his impertinence slide. It is his nature after all and Solas should know better than to let Enastarin provoke him.</p><p>“Unfortunate then, that we were unable to locate her,” Eolas injects into the tense silence. “The only Dreamer we heard rumours of, was amongst a Dalish clan near Kirkwall.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you inform me of this?” Solas snaps.</p><p>“Because it was a boy, and a human besides,” Eolas adds, bristling defensively.</p><p>“A half-blood,” Enastarin sneers.</p><p>“In any case, that clan disappeared. The only member we could trace was travelling with a human. The Champion of Kirkwall wasn’t it?” Eolas asks and Enastarin shrugs. “We could attempt to track them down,” he offers as an appeasement. “If the clan produced one Dreamer, perhaps-”</p><p>“No.” Solas appreciates his attempts but it is futile. “It has been near a decade, and not once have I encountered her in the Fade. I think she is likely dead,” Solas says without inflection. He has had time enough to accept this fact, so it is no great difficulty to hide the wound that still bleeds in his heart.</p><p>"She might not be,” Eolas holds up his hand to quell Solas’ protest. “She might have been made Tranquil.”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Enastarin adds gleefully, “the humans are quite fond of that, especially of late.” The suggestion knocks the wind out of Solas and he struggles to conceal the horror he feels.</p><p>He staggers away from them, striding from the vault and ascending the stairs. The others silently trail after him and by the time he reaches his chambers he has managed to reel in his anguish. A simmering anger lashes beneath his pain however.</p><p><em>Tranquility!</em> It would neatly explain her absence. Is this what the Fade had tried to show him? Had the Templars already caught Maera and whisked her off to a Circle? <em>This world will burn</em>, he vows to himself. He will see it cleansed of ignorance and degradation.</p><p>Solas inspects his wardrobe and scowls at all the finery hanging there. “I will need something less conspicuous,” he informs Eolas. He will already stand out amongst these lesser elves and their work cannot be accomplished by drawing attention to themselves. Excepting Enastarin of course, his entire purpose is to be seen and admired.</p><p>“I’m sure I can find something.” Eolas scurries away to raid someone else’s closet. Solas looks around his quarters, everything is exactly as he left it. Books and arcane artefacts fill every available space in his study. It is not a particularly impressive collection, compared to the treasures of Vir’Dirthara. It would be more than enough however, to upend every scholarly belief in the modern age. With a weary sigh, Enastarin flops down onto a chair, studying Solas with curious intent.</p><p>“You wish to speak?” Solas asks and Enastarin merely smirks, shaking his head. Solas turns from him, opening a trinket box on his desk.</p><p>“I am curious…” Enastarin drawls and Solas’ jaw clenches. He had forgotten how aggravating the younger elf could be - and perceptive. “To see your reaction to this new world, unskewed by the Fade.”</p><p>“I do not imagine it will be vastly different from what I have observed.” Solas’ fingers trace over the onyx wolf’s head that lies inside the box. A flash of memory comes to him; of his fingers dancing over its copy, nestled between Maera’s breasts. Heat suffuses his body and he snatches his hand away as though burned. He considers instead the jawbone, Mythal’s enchantments still radiating powerfully from it. A gift to smooth his transition, those many years ago, when he was new to his body and struggling to adapt. He no longer needs it, having learned once again to walk the Fade under his own power. But it is a comfort, to have something so familiar, when all the world has changed.</p><p><em>“Nothing wrong with being sentimental.”</em> Even though it aches, he cannot help the small smile at the memory of Maera’s teasing words.</p><p>“The Dread Wolf will deign to walk amongst the soul-less creatures of this world?” Enastarin needles, his grating tone erasing Solas’ smile. “You will choke down your pride when they spit on you and call you ‘knife-ear’?”</p><p>“I will do whatever must be done to see our people restored,” Solas says with finality, picking up a wolf’s jawbone. He hangs it around his neck, snapping the box closed with the same firmness as his statement. Eolas returns and frowns at the plateau that greets him. He scowls accusingly at Enastarin and the pretty elf beams innocently at him.</p><p>“I hope these will suffice,” Eolas holds up a very modest tunic and trousers.</p><p>“No, no, no!” Enastarin declares, leaping from his seat. He snatches the trousers from Eolas and flame ignites in his free hand. Before Eolas can intervene, he haphazardly traces a flaming finger across the garment, slashing it off just below the knees. “No need to thank me,” Enastarin sniffs as he flings them at Solas.</p><p>“Yes… I think people will not give me a second glance in these,” Solas remarks, loosening the belt on his robe.</p><p>“Be sure to rub some dirt onto them at your earliest opportunity.” Enastarin shifts once more into his human countenance. “Elves are stupid, filthy, beasts after all!” he remarks in a pretentious Orlesian accent.</p><p>“Are their heads truly that… <em>square</em>?” Solas asks archly and Enastarin bristles.</p><p>“I assure you, I have carefully cultivated these features to meet the human ideal. Even the Empress is enamoured with me!” Enastarin huffs and Solas raises his eyebrows and shrugs. An ‘if you say so’ gesture, that he knows will seed doubt in Enastarin’s psyche and torment him for weeks.</p><p>
  <em>Years even, with luck.</em>
</p><p>Eolas hastily steps between them, handing Solas the tunic. “We shall proceed with our search to find a mage to unlock the Orb. A Tevene might suffice, they have an excess of hubris.” Solas nods, as Eolas drags the still huffing Enastarin away. </p><p>Solas stares at his mirror image, trying to not dwell on the murky morality of passing the Orb to another. He knows the limits of mages in this age and what will be required - the lines they will have to cross - to access the power of the Orb. He might as well be making the blood sacrifices with his own hands. Merely a drop in the ocean, compared to the blood that already stains them; with much more to come no doubt.</p><p><em>Maera</em>, he cradles his head in his palm. With the departure of his companions, his grief washes over him. It has been unbearable, the years of endless fretting; suspecting that something terrible had happened to her. As awful as it was, he had to believe it. Otherwise, the truth was that she had simply chosen not to return to him. He needs to set aside these lingering feelings most of all; they are a distraction he cannot afford. Though perhaps there is opportunity for some form of closure. A final gesture born of affection - to find her people and bring them under his wing. To offer them protection from the coming storm.</p><p>He slides the robe from his shoulders, hanging it neatly in the wardrobe beside his other finery. There will come a time when he will not need to hide himself. When he tears down the Veil and rebuilds the world of the Elvhen. Then he may once again walk proudly amongst the People. Until that day, he must diminish further; must set aside parts of himself that could give him away. He pulls on the trousers and tunic, cinching a belt around his waist, he inspects himself in the mirror.</p><p><em>Yes, it will do. </em>From what Eolas tells him, not much scrutiny is generally made of elves in any case. He pulls on a pair of modest, sturdy boots and exits his chambers. The silence of the halls is unbearable; like walking through a tomb. Are they little more than ghosts, desperately clinging to a world that is no longer theirs?</p><p><em>No, the passage of time matters not.</em> The age of humans is but a blink of an eye compared to the long history of the Elvhen. Whatever weed has taken root in their garden, it simply needs to be plucked out.</p><p>Solas enters the main gallery, his eye drawn immediately to the fresco that fills the entire far wall. It is the only one he had the time to complete, once his rebellion began. Light streams in through the windows, only adding to the glory that is Mythal, as she beams down at him, larger than life. This is how he always wants to remember her. Regal and dazzling. Not bloodied and brought low. He presses his hand to the painting and sighs. There are some things it is beyond his power to restore.</p><p>In a room adjacent to the Eluvian, he finds Eolas hunched over his desk, scribbling instructions to his agents. The room itself is brimming with endless reports, maps and intelligence; arranged in a clinical, orderly fashion. Solas does not doubt that Eolas knows every scrap of information stored here and could find any piece of it with a moment’s notice. He studies the map that lies open on a large table in the centre of the room. The world does not look so incredibly different, though the borders and names have changed. He has seen it all in the Fade, but it is strangely comforting looking down on it with a bird’s eye view; detached from it, instead of being in the midst.</p><p>“Enastarin returns to Orlais, to make use of his resources there,” Eolas informs him, not looking up from his work. “There has been a great deal of upheaval following the Blight, with some power structures completely unravelling. It has been a very opportune time for us, to insinuate our agents into all manner of positions within those institutions.” Solas studies the pins that are placed strategically on the map - Eolas’ network.</p><p>“This is greater progress than what you had informed me,” he states with open admiration and Eolas stands, coming to observe the map.</p><p>“Honestly, they make it easy, endlessly butting heads with each other. And now with the Mage Rebellion…” Eolas waves a dismissive hand toward their opponents. “Tevinter,” Eolas names a set of green pins that concentrate heavily within the Imperium. “Are too busy vying for power in the Magisterium and fending off the Qunari. They could be a threat, if they were unified.”</p><p>Eolas touches a red pin, “The Qunari now, <em>they</em> are unified. Ruthless, efficient and everywhere.” Solas can see the abundance of their spy network. “Difficult to infiltrate as you know.”</p><p>“Yes!” Solas chuckles. ”What was it they said to Sileahilan?”</p><p>“‘Tell your masters in Minrathous - To Par Vollen, we welcome them-’” Eolas begins.</p><p>“‘-in chains and forever silenced,’” they finish in unison, amused by the sinister invitation.</p><p>“I suppose it is fortunate they believed her a mere Tevinter spy,” Solas remarks, fearing what they might have attempted to do, had they known her true nature.</p><p>“Best not to mention it when you see her. She’s still sore about it. Predictably, Enastarin reminds her at every opportunity. As though dazzling the Orlesian Court was some great accomplishment by comparison,” Eolas scoffs.</p><p>“Orlais has the same problem as Tevinter, except they’ve broken into an open civil war. After Halamshiral, the bloodshed is mostly contained to the Dales. Enastarin thrives in the Orlesian court of course. I expect he will receive a title soon enough. The marriage proposals come almost daily.” Eolas sneers gleefully, “You should tell him to accept one.”</p><p>“Such cruelty!” Solas laughs, then turns serious once more. “Do we truly want him becoming that intimate with humans? Political marriage implies certain… <em>duties</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, he already fornicates with them,” Eolas grimaces and shudders. Solas frowns, thinking immediately of Felessan and as always, Eolas seems to track his thoughts. “Do not worry, they are merely toys to Enastarin. He is so in love with himself, is he even capable of forming an emotional attachment to another?”</p><p>“Attachments certainly. If the word can be applied to such a dangerous, fickle thing. But love? Pity the poor soul if the day ever comes,” Solas remarks and Eolas nods in agreement.</p><p>“Now, the Chantry,” Eolas indicates the gold pins. “Probably the most threatening, purely because their Spymaster is quite cunning and ruthless. I… underestimated her in the beginning. It cost me some skilled pawns,” Eolas admits with great contrition. “Still, we have the advantage of course. When one can call on spirits, or enter the Fade to uncover secrets, it is not much of a contest.”</p><p>“So much chaos,” Solas muses. They could almost act with impunity and remain unnoticed.</p><p>“It benefits us greatly, but I would exercise caution if you enter any of these areas.” Eolas waves his hands over several regions on the map. “Mages and Templars are openly at war here. With the Circles dissolved, Templars will kill any apostates on sight.”</p><p>“They may attempt it,” Solas challenges. “Have you engaged at all with the Dalish?”</p><p>Eolas shakes his head. “They are not in a position to be of use to us. Perhaps if they wielded any political might, artefacts of power, or prowess with the arcane. Alas, they roam through the wilds, pretenders to our empire. Magic dwindling with each generation and covering themselves in slave markings!” Eolas grinds out in disgust.</p><p>“You do not think,” Solas is cautious with his words, “there is anything to be salvaged? I would see for myself if they are beyond redemption, we destroyed their world after all.”</p><p>“Descendants of the Myathalen?” Eolas scoffs.</p><p>“Many innocents were caught between us and the Evanuris,” Solas retorts.</p><p>“As you will,” Eolas acquiesces without further argument. “There is an active Eluvian here,” Eolas points at the western part of the map, close to the border of the Imperium. “I know there are at least two Dalish clans, one that roams close to the Hunterhorns; the other on the border of Nevarra and Orlais. I would not recommend entering Tevinter, unless you care to master Enastarin’s trick.””</p><p>“Did you ever find a clan around Wycome?” Solas points to the coastal city, keeping his tone neutral. Eolas stills, a far-away look in his eyes, as he searches his vast repository of knowledge for such minor details.</p><p>“A robust and tenacious clan,” he says at length. “They equally revere Andruil, taking pride in their many skilled Hunters, and Mythal. Which might account for their unusual cordiality toward outsiders.” Eolas studies him a moment and gently adds, “They counted no Dreamers amongst their mages.”</p><p>“I see,” Solas avoids his gaze. “Mages?” he asks, thinking there must be a mistake. The clan he had seen in the Fade had only one mage left.</p><p>“The Keeper and her First,” Eolas clarifies with a hint of disdain. "A tragic failure of a mage I must say. No control, and barely able to cast the most simple of spells.”</p><p>“A child no doubt,” Solas states, thinking of the hardened little faces he had seen, riding through the snow in the back of aravels. One of them was probably only just coming into their power.</p><p>“They’re <em>all</em> children,” Eolas sneers. “But no, she was an adult, as the Dalish measure such things anyway. Face marred and all.” Eolas shakes his head and turns to the doorway, beckoning for Solas to follow.</p><p>They exit Eolas’ study and enter what had previously been the armoury. The once orderly space has become a cluttered storeroom, stacked with crates and cabinets brimming with items.</p><p>“Money,” Eolas points at coffer that spills over with assorted currency. “Over there is where I sourced your clothes, you might want to take a cloak. Equipment for travel is in there and of course, weapons are still at the back.” Eolas points out various cupboards and corners as he speaks. “We’ve curated an assortment of items, one never knows what will be required; what role we might need to play.” Solas nods in thanks and Eolas departs, returning to his work.</p><p>He furnishes himself with money and equips himself for a long journey a-foot. Solas thumbs through the clothes in the cupboard, finding a modest coat that will suffice at keeping the wind at bay. He shrugs it on as he squeezes past a stack of boxes. Resisting the temptation to take one of many fine, enchanted staves, he finds a simple staff that could almost pass for a walking stick. Anything more would undo his careful efforts to appear nondescript.</p><p><em>I feel strangely elated</em>, he muses. Fully equipped, he returns to Eolas’ study. Given the grim task ahead of them, Solas had not thought to feel this way. Nevertheless, there is something about setting off on an adventure into the unknown, that kindles a sense of anticipation and excitement in him. Even after all this time, his love of discovery has not waned.</p><p>“You are ready then?” Eolas asks, rising from his desk. “You know where to find me if you need anything.” He escorts Solas to the Eluvian. “I will contact you if we make any headway with the Orb.”</p><p>“Thank you, Lethallin,” Solas says as they warmly clasp forearms.</p><p>“Do not fret, Solas. We will see the glory of Elvhenan again.” For such a dour individual, Eolas always displays such surprising optimism.</p><p>“Your faith in me is misplaced Eolas, I will never understand it,” Solas shakes his head in despair. “I sought to free our people and instead I brought them unto ruin.”</p><p>“While we yet endure, there is hope.” Eolas grasps his shoulder. “Are you sure…” he hesitates, practically vibrating with worry, “Wouldn’t you rather remain here?” Solas is touched by his concern.</p><p>“You cannot shield me from the truth, I have seen it all in the Fade,” Solas grimaces.</p><p>“You have seen a version of it, <em>shielded</em> by the Fade,” Eolas stresses. “The reality is… discomfiting. The world we once knew is gone - muted - the connections that once existed have faded entirely. Isenathaman protects you somewhat, but once you enter the world - it is akin to being robbed of your senses.” There is a hint of something in Eolas’ eyes, a worrying brittleness that Solas had not observed before. Solas wonders if this was the aim of Enastarin’s prodding - trying to warn him in his own, provocative fashion.</p><p>Eolas sighs, “I was not prepared. One adapts in time… mostly. But it is jarring at first, the decay especially so.” Genuine horror sweeps across Eolas’ stern features.</p><p>“I must see it,” Solas says firmly. “I have wrought it. Together, we shall unmake it.” Eolas nods, reluctantly releasing the grip on his shoulder. Solas suspects now that the contact was more for Eolas’ comfort than his own. He makes a mental note to check in on him more regularly.</p><p>Solas grips his staff, stepping forward to the Eluvian. It activates at his approach, blue light swirling across the surface and without hesitation, he plunges through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Lethallin - a close friend or blood relative<br/>Myathalen - loyalists, dedicated followers of the Evanuris</p><p> </p><p>A/N - Alright! I hope it hasn't been too confusing, but we are finally almost at a convergence of timelines. Also, when I started writing this, it was not my intention to introduce a bunch of OC's. However, the more I thought about it, it seemed sensible to me that Solas would have more ancient Elvhen agents at his disposal that just Felassan.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Guarded In Riddles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Searching for Sera, Lani finds Bull instead and gets his take on Solas.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, Varric you’re here,” Lani halts abruptly and places her stack of poems on the table near his work. “When you get a chance to look them over.”</p>
<p>Varric’s eyes narrow, scrutinising the sheafs of paper. “Were you up <em>all</em> night?” he chastises her.</p>
<p>“We’ll talk about it later,” she waves dismissively, already hurrying off to find Sera.</p>
<p>“Lani!”</p>
<p>“Later, Varric!” she calls back and exits the Hall; bounding down the stairs toward the tavern. Lani scurries across the yard, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact with any of the startled elves she passes.</p>
<p>The tavern is hushed at this hour and the bartender, Cabot, jerks his chin at her by way of greeting.</p>
<p>“Morning Boss,” Bull looks up from the card game he is playing with Krem.</p>
<p>“Bull, Krem,” Lani nods at them in turn and starts to climb the stairs to Sera’s room.</p>
<p>“She’s not up there,” Bull informs her and she leans over the rail to look down at him.</p>
<p>“Any idea where she went?”</p>
<p>“Ha!” Bull exclaims, revealing his winning hand to Krem and the lieutenant groans in defeat, gathering the cards together. “Probably nursing a monster hangover, down in the stables.”</p>
<p>“She’s been drinking?” Lani groans, her footfalls heavy, as she descends the stairs.</p>
<p>“She made quite an heroic effort, said she wanted to drink until she went blind.” Bull gives her a sidelong glance. “I guess something really rattled her. Rainier tried to drag her off to bed several times and she finally caved in.</p>
<p>“Only after she puked all over his shoes,” Krem helpfully interjects.</p>
<p>“Why the stables?”</p>
<p>“‘Hide me’, she was muttering, as Rainier hauled her out of here.” Lani scowls. “Are you doing ok, Boss?” Bull asks and jerks his head at Krem. The lieutenant taps the deck of cards on the table, rising from his seat.</p>
<p>“Inquisitor,” Krem bids her farewell, giving them room to talk privately. Bull indicates the newly vacated chair and Lani hesitates, dithering at the bottom of the stairs. She wants to talk to Sera, but she clearly does <em>not</em> want to see Lani.</p>
<p>“Dorian filled me in on what’s been happening,” Bull announces, to catch Lani’s attention. Her head swivels slowly, pinning Bull with an unwavering glare. “Not <em>everything</em>, don’t go tearing his head off,” Bull assures her, unbothered by the intensity of her expression. “Just the general gist. I knew something was up, he’s been… distracted,” he grumbles. "Cullen too, but he’s hardly inscrutable.” Bull laughs and Lani decides to take Krem’s empty seat. “Hell of a thing Cole did. Why’d you go to the Fade though, after what happened with that Nightmare?”</p>
<p>Lani shrugs. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wanted to get away.” She has been avoiding thinking about that night. Afraid that the trauma might come pouring out, shattering her again. “I wanted to undo it all.” She voices the realisation before she even knows what she is saying and cold dread washes over her.</p>
<p><em>Was that my intention? Did I want to change everything?</em> Lani crosses her arms, falling silent. Was that even possible, how would it work? She reels at the thought of what disasters she could have wrought in her mindless grief. If she stopped herself from interrupting the ritual - Corypheus would have destroyed the world. She had defeated him only <em>because</em> she possessed the power of the Anchor. What if she had gone back and stolen the Orb from him using the Anchor; before Corypheus could create the Breach? Then her past self never receives the Anchor. Which means her future self cannot go back to steal the Orb?</p>
<p><em>This is dizzying.</em> What if she simply tried to warn others? <em>Creators, Cassandra would have locked me up, or handed me over to the Templars.</em> Lani shudders at the thought of being at Templar Beric’s mercy. Solas was in the vicinity at the time, could he have helped her?<em> Would</em> he have? Something is itching at the back of her brain, just beyond reach of her conscious mind.</p>
<p>“How about a drink?” Bull asks, snapping her from her panicked reverie. He’s been silently scrutinising her, and Lani hopes she does not look as hysterical as she feels.</p>
<p>“It’s a bit early for me,” Lani murmurs, pleased she can still speak calmly.</p>
<p>“Then <em>I’ll</em> get a drink.” He stands up and heads to the bar. Lani thinks back to something Bull said - the night of the celebration - about Solas and Cole. He returns in short order, a tall tankard in hand and plonks a second mug in front of her.</p>
<p>“I said it’s-I don’t drink beer,” Lani grumbles, doubly offended, as she nudges the drink away.</p>
<p>“You haven’t tried this one.” Bull pushes it back toward her, to the point it will fall in her lap if she doesn’t pick it up. She scoops it up with an annoyed grunt and takes a hesitant sip.</p>
<p>“Oh, that is… what <em>is</em> this?” She asks wide-eyed, licking the foam from her lip as the rich, balanced flavour slides pleasingly down her throat. Bull chuckles and she should have known; he of all people would know just the right alcohol to ply her with. Lani sets the mug back on the table, studying the frothy head of her drink. The hushed murmur of the tavern becomes even more muted; the popping of the foam almost deafening in her ears. She leans forward, peering into the mug, watching the froth slowly disintegrate; each minuscule bubble standing out in stark relief.</p>
<p>“Uh, Boss?” Bull finally breaks through to her and Lani blinks. He has been talking to her and she has no idea for how long. “You ok there?”</p>
<p>“Yeah… I was just surprised by it,” she says casually.</p>
<p>“Mmmhmmm.” Bull leans back in his chair, watching her with great curiosity.</p>
<p>“What did you mean, when you said you were honest about spying on me?” Lani decides to go on the offensive. “The night of the celebration, you were referring to Solas. You didn’t trust him.”</p>
<p>“Ah, I was just drunk, making a joke,” Bull says dismissively, clearly keen to get back to his own questions.</p>
<p>“No you weren’t,” Lani says confidently and Bull shifts; so minutely she almost misses it. She’s never been able to read him in the past, but she <em>knows</em> he just lied to her. What’s more, he’s uncomfortable that she called him on it; that she even noticed. “What did you see, when you looked at Solas?”</p>
<p>“A hedge wizard,” Bull says plainly and Lani leans back in her chair, cocking her head at him. Bull sighs. “Someone that wanted us to <em>think</em> he was just a humble hedge wizard,” he admits. “All the other mages here, like Viv and Dorian, they love the idea of everyone knowing how dangerous they are. Dorian thrives on being the evil, demon-consorting Tevinter.” Bull has become quiet, the way he does when he lets his blustering mercenary guise fall away and the Ben’Hassrath agent comes to the fore.</p>
<p>“Tactically it’s sound too. Demoralising your opponents with fear can be half the battle. You weren’t like them, not at the beginning. You didn’t like the attention and I understand why you didn’t. Because you’re <em>Dalish</em>.”</p>
<p>“I still don’t like it,” Lani interjects.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that mark on your hand gives you away now. You’ve had to adapt. Still, being the Inquisitor, you don’t need to be flashy, everyone knows <em>you’re</em> dangerous. Bad guys shit their pants at the thought of you coming after them.” Bull guffaws. “Solas was even quieter than you, enemies never saw him coming, until it was too late. Why was he so averse to attention? He isn’t Dalish.”</p>
<p>“He was still an apostate,” Lani counters, though she’s of a mind with Bull - Solas did abhor attention to an unusual degree.</p>
<p>“How many apostates do you know, that can do the kind of magic Solas does? Who has even heard of a Fade expert, a spirit whisperer?” Bull scoffs. “What did I see when I looked at Solas? The most dangerous mage in the room, bar <em>none</em>.” Lani frowns. “Are you sure you want to dig into this?” Bull warns her.</p>
<p>“You think he had ulterior motives, staying with the Inquisition?” Lani charges on.</p>
<p>“Look Boss, I honestly don’t know what Solas’ motives were. All I know is - he just didn’t add up.” Bull takes a swig of his drink, gathering his thoughts. "If you think I have any insight into why he left without so much as a farewell, I have to disappoint you.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what interests me anymore,” Lani says and catches the subtle quiver of Bull’s eyebrows. “Did you know Solas was the one that told me the Orb was of elven origin? That he told me where to find Skyhold?” She doesn’t need to use her heightened senses to detect the genuine surprise that passes over Bull’s face.</p>
<p>“The story everyone tells is that you were all lost in the mountains, and you led them here by divine providence. More likely sheer luck, I always assumed,” Bull mutters and Lani shakes her head.</p>
<p>“He wanted me to take the credit. To feed the mythology of the Herald and secure my position, he claimed. Now I think he simply didn’t want to answer questions about how he knew Skyhold was here.” Lani scowls. “How he knew <em>everything</em>.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t think to ask him?” Bull scolds her.</p>
<p>“I did. ‘From the Fade’, naturally.” She shakes her head with a wry grimace.</p>
<p>“Huh,” Bull scoffs, “he was always quick to trot out that line.”</p>
<p>“You don’t believe it either?” Lani asks.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what I believe, except that he was hiding <em>something</em>. I could feel it, in my gut.” Bull slaps his broad stomach. “If you felt that way too, you should trust your instincts, not enough people do.” Lani nods, idly rapping her fingers against her mug, as she considers his advice. Surely listening to her gut applies to Bull as well.</p>
<p>“Like I said Boss, whoever he is, whatever his past, I don’t have answers. But once you start analysing everything he ever said, looking for the lies; the half-truths; the omissions… it could take you down a dark road.”</p>
<p>“He already broke my heart Bull, what more harm could he do?” Lani shrugs; surprised that thinking about it hurts less than she expected it would. “Frankly, it would be a relief to discover he never loved me.” </p>
<p>“I think Dorian underestimates the extent of what Cole did to you.” Bull studies her with an appraising eye. Lani tenses at the mention of Dorian. She wonders just how much her friend has shared with Bull. She wouldn’t expect Bull to admit the full extent of it, he’s too clever by far.</p>
<p>However, it hints at a more dedicated relationship than Lani had originally surmised - on Dorian’s part at least. The thought makes her uneasy. Lani wonders how much of it is due to Bull and his questionable loyalties, or her own burgeoning trust issues.</p>
<p>“If you hurt Dorian-” she warns and Bull scoffs at the threat.</p>
<p>“Really?” Bull spits out, disappointed by the predictable turn of this conversation. “You’ll what… <em>Inquisitor</em>? Kill me?” he barks with pure derision. Lani places her hands on the table and relaxes back against her chair; opening her posture to demonstrate a total disregard for any danger Bull poses. It is no easy feat, to look down on someone as large as Bull, but she tilts her chin imperiously; fixing him with a cold, impassive stare.</p>
<p>“No Bull,” she feels unnaturally calm as she speaks, “I will ship you back to the re-educators.” Lani knows she has hit her mark, when she catches the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes; the nervous bob of his throat.</p>
<p>“You’ve changed... <em>Boss.</em>”</p>
<p>Lani is inclined to agree. She can’t imagine <em>conceiving</em> of such ruthlessness in the past, let alone threatening it against her companions. Perhaps it had been a mistake, to always be so affable; so approachable. It was clear to her now, that there were some who still regarded her as a naive wood elf. Someone to be used and taken advantage of.</p>
<p><em>He’s forgotten - they’ve all forgotten - who it was that sent Corypheus screaming into the Void! </em>Rage and indignation festers inside her. Lani springs to her feet and Bull flinches, instantly placing his hand on the blade he keeps hidden under the table. Lani makes no threatening move against him however, and he freezes in place, as she picks up her drink. She keeps one steely eye trained on him, as she downs the drink and then slams the empty mug on the table in front of Bull.</p>
<p>“Thanks for the drink,” she blithely chirps. Bulls lets out a slow breath as she departs; relieved to see the back of her. <em>Going to run straight to tell Dorian no doubt.</em> Her mouth purses at the thought of her so-called friends, conspiring behind her back. She wonders what exactly Sera had said about her last night too, as she sets off for the stables.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Left To Grieve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Devastated over the loss of his Orb, and heart-broken after abandoning the Inquisitor, Solas lays low at Isenathaman - waiting for the Inquisition’s interest in him to wane.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Nightingale continues her search for you!” Eolas calls out and Solas halts his motion toward the Eluvian. He backtracks to the study, where his own inimitable spymaster sits at his desk. “I recommend you remain in hiding, until their focus is drawn elsewhere.”</p><p>“I will not venture into Thedas, but I <em>must</em> find Mythal,” Solas replies, leaning against the doorframe.</p><p>“It is strange that she has not approached <em>us</em>, don’t you think?” Eolas steeples his fingers, leaning back from his desk.</p><p>“Who knows how the years have changed her,” Solas muses and steps into the room. He studies the map table, wanting to think of anything but what he must do when he finds Mythal. “You directed the Venatori to the stronghold in Emprise?”</p><p>"As you suggested. That should tie up the Inquisition for a little while.” Eolas rises, coming to join him.</p><p>"We should filter some resources to them too, enough to keep them in the fight.”</p><p>“If we help the Venatori gain too much of a foothold, they might have to send the Inquisitor to root them out,” Eolas surmises and Solas shrugs.</p><p>“A reasonable diversion in any event. Better that she is occupied in the Dales…” <em>Than searching for me</em>, he leaves unsaid.“How many rifts remain open?”</p><p>“Fifty or so at last count - that are worthy of concern. Any others are small or remote enough to be ignored. That should keep the Inquisitor busy in the short-term.” Eolas studies him and Solas is grateful that although Eolas seems to know his mind, he does not know his heart. “You are concerned the Inquisition’s mandate will change?”</p><p>“She’s not the type to sit idle.” Solas dreads the future, it may be years away yet, but there will come a time when he will have to confront Sulahnean. As with Mythal, he does not want to think about the actions he will have to take, when the time comes. “We have yet to see what direction the new Divine will take the Chantry. I expect the Inquisitor would seek to aid her, if she strives for genuine reform.”</p><p>“I did not think it was possible in this world, for an elf to be elevated so highly. To wield power so openly,” Eolas remarks with genuine amazement. “Two years ago Thedas was in turmoil and she has decisively brought an end to the Orlesian civil war <em>and</em> the mage rebellion, all while battling Corypheus.” Eolas shakes his head with grudging respect. “She is far too efficient, there is barely a smokescreen left for us to operate behind. You don’t think it would be worthwhile to attempt to sway her to our cause?”</p><p>“No,” Solas interjects sharply. “Do not even entertain the idea. She cannot be a part of what we must do.” He walks a fine line, doing what he can to protect her, while also staying true to the course he has chosen. <em>Keeping her safe from me, or I from her?</em> he scowls.</p><p>“Surely a Dalish elf would want to reclaim the lost glory of the elves? Many of the alienage elves have flocked to our cause.”</p><p>"She gave her all to stop Corypheus from tearing down the Veil.” Solas shakes his head. “She will not turn around and allow us to do the same, no matter our motives.” Solas fists his hands, trying to still the tremble in them at the thought of Sulahnean.</p><p><em>Perhaps for me she might have, had I not lied to her - used her, </em>though he doubts even that. <em>She is far too loyal</em>, he knows she would never allow her friends to come to harm.</p><p>“If she cannot be bent to our will, perhaps it would be better to remove her from the board entirely.” Eolas waves his hand dismissively over the marker that represents the Inquisitor.</p><p>“Do not make a martyr of her,” Solas warns and Eolas flinches at the anger in his voice.</p><p>“As you say, you do know her better.” Eolas studies him a moment then turns away. “I must depart, I have matters to attend to.”</p><p>“Anything I can aid you with?” Solas offers.</p><p>“It would help, if you would stay put.” Eolas sighs, “Though it is not for me to command you.” Eolas bows reverently and quits the study. Solas leans against the table, he would only be aimlessly wandering the pathways if he were to leave. Until he receives word from the spirits searching for Mythal, there is naught else for him to do.</p><p>As the days pass, Eolas comes and goes freely, but they speak of little beyond their intrigues. So he tries to find ways to fill his idle days, wandering the rattling skeleton of Isenathaman. Reading books he has read a hundred times before; catching up on reports; strolling in the garden. All the while, he tries very hard not to think about what Sulahnean might be doing at her own bustling stronghold, surrounded by friends and followers. Is she keeping safe? Does she still sit and read in the Rotunda?</p><p><em>Does she think of me at all?</em> He has been strong - not once has he sought her in the Fade, however sorely he has been tempted. At length he decides to begin a new painting in the gallery and that is where Enastarin eventually finds him.</p><p>“I did not expect to see you,” Solas remarks by way of greeting, working on the base of his design.</p><p>“Oh, I came to update you on an exciting development. I simply couldn’t resist delivering this news to you personally,” he replies. Solas sets down his brush, turning warily to Enastarin; his gleeful demeanour immediately putting Solas on edge. “I was at the celebration at Skyhold you see, after the Inquisitor so soundly defeated Corypheus.”</p><p>“I told you not to approach the Inquisitor,” Solas replies sternly, fighting the urge to strike the taunting grin off Enastarin’s face. “She is not one of your ignorant playthings.” Jealousy stirs inside him - is that why Enastarin is so smug? Normally, he would not think Sulahnean’s head could be turned by a human, but even disguised as one, he knows how charming the pretty elf can be; how insidious. As though his conceit was a living thing, lashing out at whoever he desired and drawing them in.</p><p>“I did not <em>approach</em> her,” Enastarin protests innocently, “merely observed from a safe distance. Honestly, I thought there would be more to her, the way they speak of her in Orlais. She was so <em>ordinary</em>.” Solas feels relief at Enastarin’s disdain, though he would still have to tread carefully. The younger elf had always been competitive with Solas and would pursue her purely for the sake of vexing him.</p><p>“Perhaps a symptom of her subdued temperament. She did not seem particularly elated in victory, though in fairness, I do not know her quite as well as you.” Enastarin’s golden eyes glitter with the subtle jab and Solas turns back to his fresco, refusing to be goaded by him.</p><p>“The morning after, there were some very tense investigations begun by the Spymaster and the Seeker. It would seem the Inquisitor has gone missing.” Solas’ brush stutters over the wall. “No-one knows where she has disappeared to. Though the rumour in the servants quarters is that she fell from her balcony.” The words - spoken with such callow mirth - shred Solas’ insides.</p><p><em>Only a rumour</em>, he tells himself, clinging to rational thought like a lifeline. He forces himself to keep painting with a steady hand, though his heartbeat hammers in his ears.</p><p>“What an excellent opportunity, don’t you agree? If the Inquisitor is indeed dead-”</p><p>“That is not a certainty,” Solas is quick to protest. It simply cannot be true and he refuses to accept it. She was mortal, he always knew she would one day perish. In fact, he lamented her inevitable demise in every moment they spent together; his love weighted always with grief. But not like this, not so soon. Before he had a chance to tell her the truth; to properly say goodbye as himself.</p><p>“Mmm true, but even if she has simply quit the organisation, we could undermine their support. Or perhaps even bring it under our control, don’t you think?”Enastarin’s feigned concern has never been so intolerable.</p><p>“Yes,” Solas grinds out. “Tell Eolas to…” he pauses, swallowing the anguish that wants to tear from his throat. “Be prepared to move on this, but not until we have more solid information.”</p><p>“Of course.” Enastarin replies obsequiously, then after a lengthy pause adds, “I <em>am</em> sorry for your loss.”</p><p>“It is an opportunity, as you said,” Solas replies flatly, barely maintaining control of his seething rage.</p><p>“Come Solas, the rumours at Court paint a <em>very</em> intimate picture of the two of you. It was imprudent to share a dance at Halamshiral, you must have known you’d be observed. So salacious really, the Herald of Andraste and a shabby elf apostate.”</p><p>“It was beneficial to have her trust,” he intones rotely. He stares at the wall in front of him, his vision becoming dark at the edges.</p><p>“What a <em>tragic</em> story,” Enastarin sighs. “Abandoned by her lover at the moment of victory. Flinging herself from her balcony, heart-broken and in abject despair. They will sing songs about this until… well, until we rain chaos and death upon them.”</p><p>Solas rounds on him, shifting in the blink of an eye. Snarling viciously, he bares his terrible fangs and pins Enastarin to the floor. The smaller elf laughs in cruel triumph, even as he is crushed beneath Solas’ mighty, black paw.</p><p>“Where is your <em>slow arrow</em>, Fen’Harel?” Enastarin spits angrily. “I think it has turned upon you.” Solas growls in despair and frustration, loping away with Enastarin’s spiteful laughter echoing after him.</p><p>So that was his game, punishing him still for taking Felassan’s life. As though Solas didn’t already agonise over it. Yes, he understood now what Felassan had tried to tell him, about the people of this world. But it did not change anything, it could <em>not</em> change anything. Felassan’s death was righteous, even though he lamented it. He betrayed them! Solas has not yet crossed that line.</p><p>Solas pads into the garden and settles his lupine form down in the grass beneath a tree. There is no hesitation for him; no better judgement asking what he will do if he does find her. The only thing that matters is knowing that she is alive. It is a simple thing for him, as natural as breathing. Solas reaches out into the Fade, his thoughts and dreams; wishes and desires, all coalescing around a single point of focus:</p><p>
  <em>Sulahnean.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for your continued readership and support!</p><p>I was aiming for this to conclude by Chapter 30... but predictably, that is now looking to not be the case.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Apotheosis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally tracking down Sera, Lani coaxes her into talking about her unsettling appearance. More worrisome however, are the changes she is beginning to observe within. A very unexpected visitor arrives at Skyhold.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of hay and horse dung slaps Lani in the face, well before she steps into the stables. Sera lies on her back, sprawled across Blackwall’s workbench; idly juggling a discarded piece of timber from one hand to the other. The former chevalier is busy at work on a new carving and Lani wonders what it will be when complete.</p><p>“Inquistor,” he announces at Lani’s arrival - half a greeting and half a warning for Sera.</p><p>Sera bolts upright. Her face contorts in pain, the abrupt motion obviously amplifying her hangover. “Not crazy!” the elf stresses, clutching at her head, as she leaps off the table and tries to circle around Lani.</p><p>“Sera, stop.” Lani cuts off her escape. “I believe you!” Sera freezes, but refuses to meet Lani’s eyes. “Just talk to me, please?”</p><p>“You see it?” Sera demands to know.</p><p>“Well… no,” Lani admits, before hastily adding, “But one of the staff was looking at me very strangely. Could you please just tell me what you see?” Lani tries to close the distance between them.</p><p>“Stay back!” Sera exclaims, staggering back a step, eyes wide with genuine terror. “Stop that <em>mind</em>-<em>fuckery</em> you’re doing,” she hisses, locking her with an accusing glare.</p><p>“Sera, I’m not doing anything.” Lani holds up her hands and steps backward, giving Sera her space. She looks pleadingly to Blackwall, hoping he might intervene. He sets down his tools, head pivoting between the two elves with a heavy crease between his brows. He cannot seem to decide who needs his support more. “I swear to you, I’m not.” Lani insists, speaking directly to Blackwall and he sighs, fingers scrubbing his jaw through his full beard.</p><p>“The Inquisitor has never given you a reason not to trust her, Sera,” Blackwall grumbles. Sera’s shoulders relax, some of her tension easing with Blackwall’s reassurance. An unexpected surge of triumph blooms in the back of Lani’s skull. Warm and tingling, it trickles down her spine and along her limbs. She fights the urge to smirk, and shivers from the almost euphoric sense of victory. The others note her reaction and she crosses her limbs, hugging herself.</p><p>“You are really starting to scare me,” Lani remarks, rather proud of the feigned quiver she manages to inject into her voice.</p><p>Sera eyes her warily, still not entirely convinced. “Really, you ain’t making me…”</p><p>“What?” Lani urges, when Sera drifts off.</p><p>“I can’t explain it, you <em>feel</em> different. And it makes <em>me</em> feel different. Closer you get, the closer I <em>want</em> to get.” Sera breaks off with a shudder of her own.</p><p>“And what do you see?”</p><p>Sera’s eyes trace all around her. “Colour streaming off you, all bendy’n shit,” she says. “Almost like that glass they make up in Serrault, yeah?”</p><p>Lani had seen colours - the sort Sera is describing - when she visited the Crossroads with Morrigan. <em>Could it be something like? </em>She recalls she had also felt… <em>strange,</em> in the Crossroads. Alert and invigorated, in a way she had never been before. “Is it from being in the Fade perhaps?” she wonders aloud<em>.</em></p><p>“Not the first time you’ve been in the Fade though, is it?” Blackwall remarks, easing his bulk against the table.</p><p>“True, but… this was for considerably longer, I believe,” Lani decides to inform them.</p><p>“Whatchu mean?” Sera interjects. “Was only four days, right?”</p><p>“Well…” Lani scrunches up her face, “You probably don’t want to know to be honest.”</p><p>“Not if it’s more of that crazy, you ain’t normal, break the world magic!” Sera shakes her head emphatically.</p><p>“The premise would likely be beyond your comprehension in any case.” The words roll out with cool condescension, before Lani even realises what she is saying.</p><p>“You wot?” The tension returns to Sera’s shoulders, her hackles triggered by Lani’s assertion.</p><p>“Milady, that was…” Blackwall shakes his head, disappointment writ large on his face.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Sera,” Lani feebly apologises.</p><p>“No, go on,” she snarls, “Tell me more about how <em>stupid</em> I am!”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re stupid. Or crazy. I didn’t mean to…” Lani massages her temple, words failing her. It was unlike her to even think such a thing of a friend. To voice it aloud though - to be so patronising. She was at a complete loss.</p><p>“I guess old Elvhen Glory <em>did</em> rub off on you. Just not in the fun way,” Sera sneers.</p><p>“So are we thinking that only elves can see these colours on you then?” Blackwall asks, trying to re-direct the conversation.</p><p>“How did you come to that conclusion?” Lani was beginning to suspect the same thing and is surprised that Blackwall came to it so swiftly. Blackwall jerks his chin, indicating something behind her. She turns slowly, spying a cluster of elves standing near the well. They speak in hushed tones, eyes locked on her. Sera pokes her head around the side of the stables, catching sight of the gawkers.</p><p>“Oi, fuck off!” she shouts at them and they scurry back to their duties.</p><p>“Sera!” Lani chastises her, “I thought you of all people knew not to talk to the staff that way.”</p><p>“That’s rich,” Sera drawls, fixing her with a pointed glare and Lani’s cheeks burn with shame. “Had it coming if they’re getting ready to fall down praying to you,” Sera scoffs. “Just great innit? First all those Andrastians up your holy arse, now the elves looks ready to line up and kiss it too.”</p><p>“I think you might be exaggerating,” Lani crosses her arms. Though a sense of dread seeps into her bones, at the thought of more worshippers. She wants to dismiss Sera’s conjecture, but without being able to assess for her self how she appears, she finds herself having to rely upon her opinion.</p><p>“Just don’t be an insufferable twat about it, yeah?” Sera adds.</p><p>“Sera,” Blackwall chides gently, stifling a chortle.</p><p>“Is that what you thought?” Lani laughs with relief more than anything - the hard edge of scorn has bled out of Sera’s voice. “When I was just the plain old Herald of Andraste?”</p><p>“Ok, you didn’t get a big head about that,” Sera admits grudgingly. “Think it might be different, coming from elves though, yeah?”</p><p>“Not with you to keep me firmly grounded,” Lani retorts. Sera scoffs and Lani allows herself a small smile. It will take more to mend their friendship, but it’s a start.</p><p><em>Or perhaps not</em>, some sly part of Lani suggests. Perhaps - if what Sera has said is true - all Lani needs, is to be in close proximity to her for a while. She takes a step forward and stops herself, aghast that she could even consider coercing Sera.</p><p>“I need to go,” she mutters. Blackwall and Sera both give her a puzzled look, as she hastily retreats from the stables. As she scurries across the grounds, she can feel the eyes of elves upon her. She has the sudden urge to pass through the gates, out into the Frostbacks and never come back. Duty stays her however, directing her back into the Keep.</p><p>“Hey Lani,” Varric greets her, as she passes by his table. “Are you ok?” he asks, adeptly reading her expression with a skill that would put Josephine to shame.</p><p>“There is no end to it, Varric,” she bemoans. “No reprieve.” Varric’s features darken at her words. He knows better than most, the toll extracted from heroes - in blood and tears.</p><p>“Take a seat Lani and-”</p><p>“Inquisitor!” Cullen comes rushing into the Hall and Lani shares a look with Varric, before she turns to greet him.</p><p>“Commander.” She is suddenly grateful for titles, to be able to avoid the intimacy of names. Cullen seems unusually flustered - even for him, and Lani wonders what has gotten him so worked up.</p><p>“There is an elf at the gates,” he informs her. “He is <em>demanding</em> to speak with you. I thought he was one of your clan at first, his markings are the same as…” Cullen trails off, as he stares at her bare face for a beat, before remembering himself and dropping his eyes to the floor. “He had some choice words about my assumption that he was Dalish. He says you met in the Arbor Wilds.”</p><p>Lani’s eyebrows shoot upward, she had hoped she might cross paths with the Elvhen from the Temple of Mythal again - but she certainly hadn’t expected any of them to seek her out.</p><p>“Abelas?” she wonders aloud.</p><p>“He refused to give me his name,” Cullen grumbles. “Nor would he relinquish any of his weapons.”</p><p>“He <em>is</em> a weapon, Commander.” She regrets her words, when an even more severe scowl mars Cullen’s face. Lani glances around the Hall, she does not want to meet with him here. Certainly not perched on her throne, she doubts that would go over at all well. Privacy is what she desires, but she has no idea if Cassandra is still asleep in her quarters. Lani’s eyes land on the archway behind Varric.</p><p>“Bring him to the rotunda, I would speak with him privately.” Lani knows all too well, what hushed conversations can be had, even in the airy space there.</p><p>“Privately?” Cullen seems none too pleased by the idea. “I don’t think that is wise Inquisitor-”</p><p>“I am certain he means me no harm. Please escort him in, Commander.” Lani directs with brusque finality, sweeping from the Hall before Cullen can voice further protest.</p><p>She laments her rather rash decision, the moment she steps foot into the rotunda. Surrounding her on all sides are Solas’ frescoes. Her heart aches at the sight of them, stirring up feelings and memories - but mostly questions, so many questions.</p><p>Why did he expend so much effort and care, creating these murals if his intention was always to leave? Or perhaps, knowing he would <em>is</em> the reason why. To leave evidence of his existence - a permanent reminder that he cared enough to set her story onto the walls of this Keep. Just not enough to stay with her.</p><p>Part of her wants to take to them with a hammer - these taunting, cruel, <em>beautiful</em> expressions - smashing them to dust in a rage. But mostly she wants to crumble to the floor and cry her heart out. He gives her only pieces, parts of himself. It is not enough, she wants the whole. <em>She</em> wants to be made whole again.</p><p>Lani brushes her hands over her face, willing herself to be calm. She needs to compose herself - she’ll be damned if she stands before her imperious Elvhen cousin looking like an emotional wreck. She lets out a slow, steady breath, squaring her shoulders and turning toward the far door - where she assumes Cullen will bring Abelas from the courtyard.</p><p>It is only then that she spies the new addition, hastily scrawled across the raw surface of the wall. Lani has avoided this room since Crestwood, so she has no idea when exactly Solas made this final footnote.</p><p>Her heart thunders - so loud she thinks it must easily echo up into the Rookery - as her eyes trace the outline of a great, fanged beast. The form of her recent nightmares, manifesting here in the waking world. Only this wolf is so immense in stature, it dwarfs the body of the slain dragon that lies at its feet.</p><p>Was it meant to signify Solas’ hope that they would defeat Corypheus? They did slay <em>his</em> dragon after all. The cold knot in her stomach says otherwise. Why would he take the time to apply this? Was it a confession? An apology? <em>A</em> <em>warning</em>?</p><p>Her feet have carried her to the wall of their own volition and she raises a trembling hand, fingers tracking the jagged body of the great wolf. An unbearable longing seizes her; so keen she curls in on herself, her body contorting with the pain of it. It is so all-consuming, it feels as though it is pushing the rest of her out - that there is room for nothing else, except this broken void inside her.Her nails scrabble across the wolf, as her hand curls into a fist and she beats it against the wall.</p><p><em>Curse you, why, why, why? </em> She wants to scream.</p><p>“Inquisitor?”</p><p>Lani jumps in surprise and she turns at the sound of Cullen’s arrival. Sure enough, Abelas looms beside him. Lani hastily schools her features, mortified at being caught unguarded. While Cullen may have noticed her distress, Abelas is gaping instead at the space around her.</p><p><em>Well… small mercies</em>, she muses wryly.</p><p>“Thank you, Commander, that will be all,” she firmly dismisses him and Cullen frowns, obviously still unhappy to leave her alone with what he perceives to be a threat. Really he ought not to worry so much.</p><p><em>It’s not as though he is Fen’Harel</em>, she thinks and is possessed by the sudden urge to giggle hysterically. She smothers it, the air in her lungs thumping and burning, fighting to escape. She gives Cullen a strained smile and from the naked concern in his eyes it is clear it does not reassure him in the slightest. But finally, he nods in assent and retreats, though Lani suspects he will be lurking on the other side of the door.</p><p>“Inquisitor… you are…” Abelas finally speaks, shaking his head as he studies her.</p><p>“Oh, the thing,” Lani waves the air around herself dismissively. “A side-effect of the Anchor.” The lie comes to her easily. How convenient that she should possess a magical mark, with which to so easily explain away her other mystical peculiarities.</p><p>Abelas’ eyes slide past her then, landing on the frescoes and he turns in a circle, taking them in. Lani does not know how widely he has travelled in the time since he left the Arbor Wilds, but she suspects he would not have seen their like anywhere else in Thedas. Not new ones, at the very least.</p><p>“These are…” he gapes in awe, an unexpected depth of emotion softening his severe features.</p><p>“Solas created them,” Lani explains.</p><p>“That would fit,” Abelas remarks, nodding. “I had hoped to speak with him too. He mentioned that others… my people waited.”</p><p>“That he did,” Lani muses quietly. “So you recognised him, at the Temple?” Lani probes, casting her thoughts back to that moment, to recall what exactly the two elves had said to one another.</p><p>“You assume that the few of us remaining, all <em>know</em> one another?” Abelas drawls, more amused by her, than disdainful.</p><p><em>A slight improvement I suppose. </em>There is little joy for Lani, that he so readily acknowledges what she should have realised a long time ago. That Abelas had inherently recognised Solas as being one of his <em>kind</em>. Or far closer to it than she would ever be.</p><p>“Elvhenan spanned this continent and beyond. Our people innumerable. The chances of me knowing any survivors beyond my own Sentinels is slight. Especially one that bore no allegiance to…” Abelas trails off, scowling as he studies her face. “Your Vallaslin.”</p><p>Lani raises her hands to cover her bare cheeks, self-conscious under his scrutinising glare. “Solas told me they were the branding of slaves,” she explains to him. “He removed them.”</p><p>Abelas’ eyebrows twitch, his chin jerking upwards, as though he has had a sudden revelation. His scowl quickly returns, deeper than before, as he turns from her, restlessly pacing the room.</p><p>“I came to thank you, Inquisitor. For not slaughtering my people.” Abelas turns toward her, his words rushing out of him in haste. His eyes do not acknowledge her, flickering instead above her head, his attention already turned to other matters. “I think anyone else would have simply fought their way through. I was angry and resentful, but I wanted you to know I am grateful for your efforts. That I can see now, the great pains you took to be respectful.”</p><p>An angry sneer curls Lani lips. He speaks to her of respect, but gives her none in return, not even deigning to look at her, as he delivers his rushed apology. She can see how anxious he is to be gone from here, only some modicum of civility has kept him this long. She is an afterthought; if she had still been in the Fade when he arrived and upon discovering Solas was not here, would Abelas have even bothered to leave her a message with this sentiment?</p><p>“I spoke with Mythal,” she remarks casually and smirks, as her words immediately arrest his attention.</p><p>“That is <em>not</em> possible,” he declares. Lani tilts her head haughtily, clasping her hands behind her back, as she strolls nonchalantly across the room. Abelas tracks her like a hawk and falls in step beside her, as she crosses past him. “How? Where?” He demands to know, grasping her arm to halt her stride. Upon touching her however, he immediately snatches his hand away. “You are… you <em>feel</em> like the Fade,” he gasps, staggering away from her.</p><p><em>Interesting.</em> Lani had surmised that ancient elves, being more attuned to magic, might have felt her unusual <em>aura</em> sooner. But it seems, they are in fact more resistant to it. She cocks her head, taking in the wave of emotions that sweep across his sculpted face. There is a moment, when longing reigns supreme and his fingers stretch toward her. Then he remembers himself and clutches his hand tight against his body. <em>Very interesting.<br/><br/></em>“I met her <em>in</em> the Fade, as a matter of fact,” Lani informs him. “She calls herself Flemeth however. Do you recall Morrigan, the one that drank from the Vir’Abelasan?”</p><p>Abelas snorts with disdain, “How could I forget?”</p><p>“Flemeth is <em>her</em> mother, she had taken Morrigan’s son…” Lani trails off, no reason to tell him that Kieran had been in possession of the soul of an Archdemon.</p><p>“Mythal a <em>shemlen</em>?” Abelas sneers, “Then she lies.”</p><p>“I might have been inclined to agree with you, except that Morrigan - under the geas of the Vir’Abelasan, was <em>compelled</em> to obey Flemeth. How could that be possible, if she were not Mythal?”</p><p>Abelas falls silent, brooding over this revelation. “<em>If</em> Mythal were truly alive,” he finally concedes, “why would she not come to us? Her people?”</p><p>“Would you have believed her? A <em>shemlen,</em>” she grinds out. Abelas winces and the word feels particularly distasteful in Lani’s mouth, even though she uses it to illustrate a point. She cannot forget however, that Abelas considers her as much a Shem as any human.</p><p>“I cannot say I would have,” he confesses quietly. “Thank you for telling me, Inquisitor.” He grants her a small bow and Lani smirks inwardly - humbling him was rather satisfying.</p><p>“What will you do now?” she asks.<br/><br/>“I shall seek out this… Flemeth. And Solas too.”</p><p>“I see,” Lani’s gaze is pulled back to the frescoes. He would chase shadows of a lost Empire, rather than help her to build a new one. She should not be surprised, whatever goodwill she had earned with Abelas, it was clear he still did not see her as Elvhen. Neither had Solas, it occurs to her.She was therefore unworthy of their precious time.</p><p>"You did not part on good terms?” Abelas is sharper than she would have guessed.</p><p>“We did not part on <em>any</em> terms,” she spits with exasperation. Abelas studies her silently, opening his mouth to speak but then thinking better of it. Lani is relieved. She doesn’t want to hear empty words of pity or comfort and if he dares to ask her where he might find Solas -</p><p>
  <em>I will punch him in the mouth.</em>
</p><p>“…dangerous to let the Inquisitor wander… can’t be certain…” Voices reach them from the Hall and the two elves turn their attention to the broken threads of a heated argument.“…what she said to Bull … untold side effects, no-one… Tranquility seems reversed, she’s no…”</p><p><em>Cassandra, Varric and Dorian</em>, Lani scowls. Airing her private concerns for all the world to hear. She clenches her teeth, eyes flicking to Abelas and wondering how much he can garner without context. <em>Too much, </em>she determines quickly. She sweeps her hand toward the far door, indicating that he should walk with her. When he does not budge, she raises her other hand, threatening to physically nudge him and that gets him shuffling away quick enough.</p><p>“I wish you luck in finding your people,” she throws open the door and as she suspected, Cullen lingers on the other side.</p><p>“Wait, Inquisitor-” Abelas protests his hasty dismissal.</p><p>“Dareth Shiral, Abelas,” she interjects and gives Cullen a pointed look, communicating that he can use force to throw Abelas out of Skyhold if he has to. The Commander nods in understanding and Lani sweeps away from them; barely contained fury crackling around her, as she storms toward the Hall.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Dareth shiral - farewell/safe journey</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Bitter Is Sorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Solas enters the Fade, seeking answers regarding Sulahnean's reported demise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dear readers, thank you for your continued support and sticking with this story thus far. I have illustrated a scene from <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/819684882602524713/825232057419956235/river_love_final_copy.png">Chapter 17 - River Love</a>, as a little treat. It is definitely NSFW, which is why I am including a link, rather than embedding it into the chapter itself. I hope you all enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas falls quickly into slumber and is not surprised - though disappointed - when he does not happen upon Sulahnean’s dreams. A memory shapes around him instead, the very celebration that Enastarin spoke of. Illustrious guests from all across Thedas have converged upon Skyhold at the news of Corypheus defeat. They mingle with the exhausted members of the Inquisition, greedily siphoning the glory of victory for themselves. The Inquisitor is not difficult to find amongst the revellers; she is the bright centre around which all others orbit.</p><p>Solas can see immediately that something is not right. She <em>is</em> subdued - not that any of these strangers would notice, for she plays the part of the gracious hero well. What truly alarms Solas however, is the shifting energy that distorts the air around her. This odd phenomenon was clearly not apparent to anyone in the waking world. The Fade is curving in on itself - coiling and writhing, like a malignant python around Sulahnean, wherever she goes. Solas cannot tell if this was a real event, or somehow a corruption of this memory.</p><p><em>It must relate to the Anchor</em>, he surmises. Though he has never witnessed such an effect in all the dreams they shared together. It was not outside the realm of possibility however, that something had changed during her final confrontation with Corypheus. After all, the first time Corypheus attempted to re-take the Anchor from her, the Magister had unwittingly unlocked more of its power. When she held the Orb once again, there is no telling what other effect it might have had.</p><p>He had never intended for the mark to pass to anyone but himself. In some ways, the results were predictable - the Anchor would spread and eventually kill her. What he had not predicted however, is that she would master the ability to close rifts without his aid. Surprising him further by opening tears and even physically entering the Fade. In time, she learned to manipulate the energy of the Anchor to shield herself and wreak terrible devastation on the field of battle. What was this strange force however, that impacted the Fade even in residual memories?</p><p>The Anchor itself appears dormant, though he is surprised to see it - glowing faintly in the curve of her loose fist, as she makes small-talk with fetid Orlesians. At past events she has always hidden it in a glove, but not on this night. He wonders if it is a new-found confidence, or simply resignation. There is an air of weariness about her, carefully contained behind feigned happiness. Solas knows the warmth of her genuine smiles. What she projects here is a hollow substitute and it stabs at his heart, fearful of how this evening might end. His hand ghosts over her cheek and pain lashes through him.</p><p><em>What </em>is<em> that!</em> He snatches his hand away as though burned, staggering away from the Inquisitor. Carefully, he reaches back toward the writhing aura, fingers barely touching and he can sense a cloud of tumultuous emotions. If it had shape or consciousness, he would infer that a demon was attempting to take possession of her.</p><p><em>Another effect of the Anchor or…</em> An infuriating suspicion takes root. To draw spirits to another - to impact them when even awake - would take the skills of a powerful Dreamer. Solas glances around the Hall, easily locating Enastarin. Like the Inquisitor, he also draws people into his orbit; snaring them like a ravenous siren. He is surrounded by a gaggle of fawning women and he forgoes the customary mask of an Orlesian gentleman.</p><p>Solas presumes the humans find him daring for doing so, not realising his entire body is a mask. With a triumphant smirk, Solas notes that Enastarin’s head is not quite so square as it had previously been. He remains taller and broader than his true self, ruggedly handsome and ageless. Possessing a slightly smug, man-of-action air about him, which Solas finds repellant, purely because it reminds him of Cullen.</p><p>The women hang on Enastarin’s every word, laughing when he laughs; endlessly jostling to be the one closest to him. Puppets dancing on the ends of invisible strings. It is effortless for Enastarin, holding them rapt even though his attention is fixed firmly across the room. Solas cannot detect any nefarious magic emanating from him and he wonders if the elf actually noticed the aura around Sulahnean. How might it have appeared to someone more attuned to the Fade? Enastarin gave no hint that he observed anything so strange, but it’s just the sort of thing he would withhold, hoping to torment Solas with it later.</p><p>“You do not take your eyes off the Inquisitor, milord.” Solas is not the only one to have noticed Enastarin’s unwavering interest. “Please tell me you have not been ensorcelled like so many others?” One of Enastarin’s companions asks with barely contained jealousy.</p><p>“With treasures such as yourself before me? Impossible!” he flatters her, catching her hand to favour it with a gallant kiss. “I am simply bewildered. Such stories we hear in Val Royeaux and now I see, she is just a trite little wood elf,” Enastarin scoffs, but his eyes are covetous, as he watches Sulahnean. Solas seethes at the gleam in his eyes, feeling a possessiveness he has no right to. He wonders what shallow, selfish schemes were winding their way through Enastarin’s twisted, jealous psyche. Part of him wishes Enastarin had disobeyed him more brazenly - giving him a clear mandate to remove a potential competitor.</p><p><em>Competitor?</em> Solas chides himself, irritated that he has allowed Enastarin to get under his skin. Suhlanean could not be so easily swayed as these fawning women - won over with sly, sweet words. <em>Could she? </em>Cold tendrils of doubt twist through his gut and Solas shakes it off. This is the least of his concerns right now.</p><p>“I thought she had face tattoos. At least <em>that</em> would have been interesting,” another of Enastarin’s admirers mutters. “What <em>is</em> she wearing?”</p><p>"And that hair! Did she even try?” a third exclaims, and they all cackle cruelly.</p><p>“We are supposed to believe <em>she</em> outmanoeuvred Florianne and secured Celene’s throne?” Yet another interjects, desperate to impress Enastarin. “And now defeated an ancient Magister? The stories do seem too unbelievable.”</p><p>“I would not be surprised if this was all simply a clever deception by the Sister,” the first, more observant one remarks, jerking her chin toward Leliana.</p><p>“Not so clever,” one of the shrill harpies sneers, “she failed at her bid to be named the next Divine after all.”</p><p>“Sometimes ’tis better to be the power behind the throne, no?”</p><p>“Indeed,” Enastarin interjects smoothly, “then one is free to pursue their own desires.” At his words, they are all drawn closer to him, breathless and pliant. Solas scoffs with repulsion and moves away from Enastarin’s echo chamber.</p><p>Sulahnean has joined their companions and a pang of regret squeezes Solas’ heart. <em>His</em> companions no longer - soon to be mortal enemies no doubt. For the most part, he has prepared himself to weather their scorn and the loss of their respect. It is only Sulahnean’s reaction that he dreads, and his own in response. The distortion around her flares, growing rapidly and Solas moves closer to determine what is causing it.</p><p>“Is that why he left? Cause you weren’t gonna make his smarmy little elf spawn?” Sera jests, rousing a storm of rage and guilt within Solas. His decision to not take advantage of Sulahnean should not be a cruel joke. Why are all his good intentions inevitably perverted?</p><p>It is difficult to gauge Sulahnean’s reaction, the memory of her is fractured by the Fade aberration - like a shattered mirror, casting endless, broken reflections.</p><p>Suddenly, she is on her feet, moving swiftly toward her quarters and Solas trails after her - racing to keep up with her the moment she quits the Hall. When she falls to the floor he dives into the maelstrom that surrounds her. It takes a moment, as he fights against the initial shock, to decipher exactly what he is seeing.</p><p>Somehow, Sulahnean’s own memories are crashing into this single moment, tangling together, as they press themselves upon her. The images themselves are not that shocking, he has seen too much death and horror himself. It is the emotions attached to them, the depth of Sulahnean’s anguish that leaves him reeling. He is lashed with heart-ache; so much of her pain stems directly from memories of him.</p><p>The effect passes, as she lurches to her feet, staggering out onto the balcony. Solas can no longer make her out at all through the raw, chaotic energy that engulfs her. Helpless terror takes hold of him, he cannot do anything to help her; he can only stand by and watch the tragedy unfold.</p><p>“Inquisitor!” Cole appears and Solas turns to him, feeling a spark of hope. If anyone could have helped her, surely Cole could calm this raging storm. Cole slumps to the floor and unthinking, Solas tries to take hold of him, to shake him into action. His hands slide through Cole and Solas turns back, shocked to find the balcony empty.</p><p>“No,” he whispers, racing to the railing and peering down into the inky void below. “No!” His anguish reverberates through the Fade. Inquisitive spirits appear, drawn by his immense sorrow and pain. They clamour beside him on the balcony, flittering and chattering amongst themselves. “Leave me!” he roars and they dart away in terror - never before has the Dread Wolf turned his rage upon them.</p><p><em>Cole</em>, Solas blinks, reason returning through the haze of his anguish.</p><p>“Cole!” He summons the spirit of Compassion to the Fade and the pale, trembling boy appears before him.</p><p>“Inquisitor?” Cole cries, before he has even fully formed. His gaze hardens, as he realises that Solas has drawn him here. “No, not you,” he cuts his hand through the air. “I followed you already, I thought you needed help.”</p><p>“What has happened?” Solas’ rasps.</p><p>“I need to find her, I cannot hear her, <em>heal</em> her.” Cole casts around himself, looking utterly lost. Whatever lucidity the spirit may have gained from being in the Fade, seems impaired by his anxiety.</p><p>“She is alive?” Solas hardly dares to hope, but if Cole still thinks he can find her then there is a chance. “Why does she need healing, what happened?” Cole looks at him with a seething rage he has only observed once before - when they confronted the Templar responsible for the <em>real</em> Cole’s death.</p><p>“<em>Your</em> Anchor, Fen’Harel! Tearing through her, tearing the Veil,” Cole claws at his own face. “Body and soul marred by the Orb, it wasn’t enough for you. You had to devour her heart too?”</p><p>“It was selfish of me,” Solas confesses. “It was never my intention. She is…” <em>Unique. </em>He had not thought it possible for him to fall more deeply in love than he had with Maera. Especially as he was actively determined to <em>not</em> develop attachments to the people of this world. “I had to end it. I could no longer bear to lie to her, and the truth would have destroyed her.”</p><p>“You lie to yourself!” Cole snarls. “The truth would have destroyed only <em>you</em>! She would have heard you, you could have been honest from the beginning,” Cole speaks with such certainty it rends Solas’ heart. “Now you have broken <em>everything!”</em></p><p><em>Impossible</em>, he could not have confessed to her at Haven. He had tried to approach the Dalish when he first awoke - to tell them the truth about the Evanuris. ‘Harellan' and ‘flat-ear’ they had shouted - driving him away with cutting words and piercing arrows. Sulahnean would not have heard him either.</p><p><em>Yet…</em> he is forced to wonder. She had not ever been like those other Dalish. It had made the Vallaslin she marked herself with all the more offensive. He understood the meaning had changed, but still - to align herself with the Dalish at large was an affront. How could they even call themselves a People, when every Clan held such different values? She was more open-minded and had always been eager to listen to him, to learn from him. Forever inquisitive, even from their very first meeting.</p><p>The Fade shifts around him, the memory of that moment coming into focus. When she came with Cassandra to inspect the Breach, after she had awoken with the Anchor.</p><p>“Quickly, before more come through.” The reflection of himself grasps her hand and with his help, she closes that first rift. His assessment of her in that moment was dismissive and biased. All he saw was a Dalish elf, cast among angry, accusing humans; with <em>his</em> mark upon on her hand - stealing the key to his redemption. While everyone else was panicked about the rifts and demons in the valley, Sulahnean seemed completely unfazed by the entire scenario. He had thought perhaps she was a simpleton, not even able to grasp the gravity of the situation.</p><p>“Terror, so cold it steals air from lungs,” Cole remarks quietly, studying the Inquisitor. “Unbearable pain, like flesh being stripped from her bones. Your hand touches hers, relief floods through her, ‘He has kind eyes.’”</p><p>“<em>Kind</em>,” Solas scoffs. “If I were kind, I would have kept her forever at a distance. I should have spurned her advances.”</p><p>“You could not resist the calling of your heart, any more than she could. She was <em>bound</em> to love you.”</p><p>“I should have tried harder!” he despairs and Cole’s expression softens, reaching out a hand to squeeze Solas’ shoulder. He shrugs him off, he does not deserve compassion.</p><p>The memory of Sulahnean turns - calm and considered - to his own reflection. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarks, catching him off guard. In all the chaos, no-one had thought to ask him <em>how</em> he knew so much about the Anchor, or the Breach. Fortunately, Cassandra had intervened, giving him time to formulate an answer, trying to turn her attention back to the matter at hand. Sulahnean persisted however, wanting answers to <em>everything</em>. Furthermore she wanted to know <em>him</em>, to build a connection, a friendship.</p><p>Solas watches, as they move on through the memory, pushing toward the Temple. He remembers studying her and wondering what kind of person had received his Anchor? Was there still a chance to recover it and the Orb - a way to salvage his plans? Perhaps he could bend her to his will, to do his bidding.</p><p><em>What a foolish notion</em>, he realises now in hindsight. True that she was vulnerable and eager; a perfect opportunity existed, to ingratiate himself with her. To influence her til she would accept his counsel without question and actively seek to retrieve the orb for him. A carefully laid trap and yet, all along, the snare was closing tighter about himself.</p><p>The Breach flares - expanding rapidly - as Chancellor Roderick rants and raves, threatening to drag Sulahnean to Orlais. She grasps at her hand, crying out in pain. He had watched in awe, as she forced the Anchor to subside. So quickly she had mastered it, dominating it through sheer force of will.</p><p>“We charge,” she commands. “I won’t survive long enough for your trial,” she snarls at Roderick and Solas knew then, she was no simpleton. She was running full-tilt toward her own demise; under no illusion and still fearless. Determined to save them all, even if she had to drag the belligerent humans, kicking and screaming to safety. He was doomed in that moment and he didn't even realise, not until it was too late.</p><p>How could he possibly confess his role in it? No words could ever suffice; could explain how his lack of judgement had branded her with the Anchor. That it would be the death of her. Or that he hadn't even see her as a person, but a tool to be used for his own gain.</p><p><em>Vhenan</em>, Solas slumps to his knees. This is all too painfully familiar. She is gone; missing or dead. Lost to him. He thought her safe for the time being. Far from him - from what must be done.</p><p>“Did she go where we could not follow?” Cole murmurs, picking up on Solas’ thoughts. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”</p><p>“Hurt her?” His eyes narrow, studying Cole.</p><p>“I took all the pain, it wasn’t supposed to come back. The Fade, the suffering, it bleeds into her and she… why can’t I <em>find</em> her?”</p><p>“You…” The distortion in the Fade. The fractured memories twining one over the other and violently pressing around her. It all becomes horrifyingly clear. In all his many years, Solas has never harmed a spirit that was not the active aggressor. But now he rises, taking hold of Cole with a dangerous fury. “You did this to her!”</p><p>“For you!” he exhorts. “You wanted the Orb. Only she could get it back. She was going to leave!”</p><p>“I did not <em>ask</em> this of you,” Solas insists, thrusting Cole from his grasp.</p><p>“Not in words - but for the longest time, it was your single, burning desire. The Inquisitor’s clan were in danger, she was going to slip away. She didn’t trust the humans would <em>let</em> her go. Varric had told her that Cassandra dragged him to Haven in chains. She had tasted those irons herself.” Cole’s head rocks back, trembling as he feels what Suhlanean had felt. “Pain arcs in her hand, driving her apart. The Fade, rushing into the void. An inexorable tide that slowly erodes her flesh. Cold, unyielding steel bites her wrists. <em>Vir revas Elvhen, tel’vaslasa!”</em></p><p>“That…” Solas scowls, he <em>knows</em> these words for somewhere.</p><p>“I took it all away, so she would stay and help you. Then again, when they were all dead.” Cole shakes his head despondently. “Her clan - what they represent - was central to her identity. Strength in the face of adversity. Bonds of family and community. Duty, sacrifice, kindness, pride! I did not know, how could <em>I</em> understand?” Cole frowns, pensively studying his cupped hands; as though he holds something precious there. “I couldn’t make it right. I kept chipping away and each part lost made room for <em>more</em> doubt, <em>more</em> fear. Terrors that kept her from sleeping at night and she couldn’t fathom why. So I took the questions too.”</p><p>Solas grits his teeth, trying to still the rage that quakes inside him. “You did not speak to me, Cole,” Solas commands; fully aware of the irony, as heerases Cole’s memory of their meeting. The spirit wanders away into the Fade, continuing his search for Sulahnean. Solas watches him go, fighting the urge to chase after him; to rend him with tooth and claw until there is no hope of his spirit ever reforming. He wakes himself, before he commits an atrocity that will grieve him for the rest of his days. He has regrets enough already.</p><p>In his slumber, his wolf form has subsided and he stretches back on the grass, gazing up at the sky. The lazy, drifting clouds become increasingly soft and fuzzy, as his vision blurs and he blinks the burgeoning tears away. He has no right to be angry at Cole; Solas was the one that convinced Sulahnean that the spirit was not a danger. That he had not been corrupted. A corruption only made possible because Solas had created the Veil. Every misfortune in this cursed world was of his making, yet it seemed that the greatest suffering was reserved always for those dearest to him.</p><p><em>Where would she go?</em> he wonders. Sulahnean knew only the Inquisition and her home among the Dalish. Which, as Cole had pointed out, that home was long gone. He realises, she had never even mentioned them to him. Certainly they had discussions about the Dalish, but always in vague and abstract terms of the Dalish as a whole. Never specifics about her family.</p><p>Doubts gnaw at his insides - Cole implied that he had stolen much of her away. <em>Did I even truly know her?</em> he wonders. <em>Yes, </em>his heart throbs in answer<em>.</em> Her thoughtfulness, her kindness, her bravery; that was all her. A brilliant, bright, indomitable spirit was his Sulahnean. He had seen it, long before Cole had appeared amongst them.</p><p>He taps his fist against his thigh, troubled by an all too familiar sense of frustration - at a complete loss as to where to seek for her. Where would the Inquisitor go in her turmoil? Where even Cole could not find her? Unless Cole was mistaken. Perhaps the spirits’ own grief was causing him to deny the truth and Solas had latched onto that hope, too afraid to face reality either.</p><p>“Solas?” A worried voice calls to him from the shadows beneath the arched garden entrance. Solas sits up and his heart quakes, as Sileahilan steps into the sunlight.</p><p>“Please go,” he urges, turning away from her. If she comforts him now, he will not be able to maintain his composure. He will fall to pieces under her pitying gaze.</p><p>“I will do no such thing. I was set upon by a dozen distressed spirits - terrified out of their minds. They said you were in such a rage.” She settles gracefully in the grass, kneeling before him. “I arrive here, to find <em>Nasty</em>,” she slips smoothly into the trade tongue, to fix Enastarin with a new appellation, “in a state of supreme exultation and Eolas anxious beyond all reason. So, it is clear that something terrible has happened. Did you find what remains of Mythal?”</p><p>Solas shakes his head. He attempts to speak, but all that escapes is a strangled croak. Sileahilan waits, her green eyes gentle and patient.</p><p>“The Inquisitor…” he finally chokes out, hiding his face in his hand; ashamed beneath her steady gaze.</p><p>“Lethallin,” she sighs, shuffling closer so that she can wrap her arms around him. “You did not heed Felassan.”</p><p>Solas winces, “Do you hate me?”</p><p>“No,” she replies softly, her hand cradling the back of his head, as she holds him close. “No,” she repeats with greater conviction.</p><p>“I will be the doom of us all,” he groans, letting his sense of loss drive him to ever greater depths of despair.</p><p>“So dramatic,” she drawls. “You <em>saved</em> us.”</p><p>“At what cost?”</p><p>“Ah! Enough!” she chides, pushing him back to level him with a stern grimace. “What cost?” she tuts. “What was the alternative, have you forgotten? And now, we will fix our mistakes. You never acted alone. <em>We</em> followed you, <em>we</em> supported you. This is not your burden alone and you need to stop treating it as such. Although now <em>I’ve</em> obviously forgotten who I am talking to,” she scoffs.</p><p>“She is not a <em>mistake</em>,” Solas grinds out and Sileahilan quirks an eyebrow at him. “Letting her get close, that was an error, but she is not… Sulahnean’s <em>existence</em> is not a mistake.”</p><p>“You agree that this world, the state of it, is an aberration, correct?” Sileahilan watches him carefully.</p><p>“Yes,” he confirms and her shoulders relax minutely. “Yet for all that, there are still marvels within it.”</p><p>“Of course, I have seen a great number of them. Wasted for the most part upon these <em>people</em>. They have eyes that do not see.” She sighs, rubbing her hand across her brow, “What do you want to do? Regarding the Inquisitor, how can I help?”</p><p>“I don’t know that there is anything to be done.” A numb sense of resignation takes over him and he feels weary all of a sudden. So immensely tired. “Cole cannot find her… They think she is… ” he can’t say it, he doesn’t <em>want</em> to say it.</p><p>Sileahilan inhales sharply. “But it is not certain?” Solas shakes his head and she sits back on her heels, deep in thought. “You should have told me.” She presses her eyes closed, as though pained. “I would have gone for you. To keep her safe.”</p><p>“I have been selfish enough-”</p><p>“Dianav’in!” she interjects, and then grimaces in apology. “I don’t mean to be angry with you, not when you are hurting so. But only you would begrudge yourself an ounce of happiness.” Gently, she takes his face with both her hands. “You’ve become so hard, you don’t let us in anymore. Not since…” A shadow passes over Sileahilan’s bright face and he knows she is thinking of Mythal; of their collective failure. “We <em>miss</em> you, lethallin,” her voice breaks and a fresh wave of guilt rolls over him.</p><p>“Ir abelas.” He takes one of her hands in his, threading their fingers together and giving it a gentle squeeze.</p><p>“Tas’abelas,” she replies and it undoes him. His grief shakes him apart inside; stoic resolve crumbling under the weight of countless regrets.</p><p>“I can’t… I can’t,” he wretchedly moans, shaking his head and barely able to draw breath.</p><p>“Let it go, Solas,” Sileahilan gently urges. “Holding it in won’t make it hurt less.” He bends forward, her hand still gripped tight in his, as he sobs into her lap.</p><p>She curves over him, pressing her cheek against the back of his neck, free hand soothing up and down his spine. “All will be well, Fen’ha’el,” she murmurs, “I still believe in you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p><p>Dianav’in! - shut your mouth/stop speaking nonsense<br/>Ir abelas - I’m sorry/deeply sorrowful<br/>Lethallin - a close friend/kin/blood relationship<br/>Fen’ha’el - wise, respected wolf<br/>Harellan - trickster/rebel<br/>Tas’abelas - I’m sorry too<br/>Vhenan - heart, a term of endearment<br/>Vir revas Elvhen, tel’vaslasa - We free people, will never submit</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. On Loose Sand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Varric gets into a heated argument with Cassandra and Dorian, frustrated by their autocratic approach to handling Sulahnean's disappearance and subsequent return.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Varric watches Lani race out of the Hall, a burgeoning protest dying on his lips. Muttering under his breath, he turns his attention back to matters of the Merchant’s Guild. There has been push-back from the Guild, despite Varric’s assurances that investing in the restoration of Kirkwall would lead to immense profits.</p>
<p>“Short-sighted, self-important fools,” he grumbles. It would be easier if he were there; if he could persuade them in person. The main sticking point of course, was that Varric wanted to rebuild the slums and poor quarters, not just High Town. The perfect opportunity was before them, to build something greater from the ashes of Kirkwall.</p>
<p>If the Merchant’s Guild stepped up, Kirkwall would, with little political conflict, become a Dwarven owned City State. Kirkwall could become a hub of Dwarven trade, providing lyrium and dwarven crafts to Southern Thedas from one central stronghold. More-over, they could - as a people - finally have an actual place to call home on the surface. The Guild however, too many of them were stuck in the past. Looking back, looking down, always to Orzammar. Nothing on the surface <em>mattered</em>, they were still desperately clinging to a legacy that had long since faded.</p>
<p>“I <em>need</em> to be in Kirkwall.” Frustrated, he scours his hand over his mouth, scratching at his stubbled jaw. His initial plan was to leave before the month was out, but now… he looks back to the vaulted doors through which Lani had disappeared.</p>
<p>“I have a mountain of laundry to do.” A gaggle of servants approach the entrance, their voices ringing clear over the constant low murmur in the Hall. This is why Varric loves this spot. He’s lost count of the number of juicy conversations he has over-heard from visiting courtiers, either unaware of his presence, or too arrogant to even care.</p>
<p>“You <em>need</em> to see this with your own eyes, trust me.” The lead servant tugs them along and they all swiftly disappear down the stairs to the training grounds. Varric wonders what has caught their attention.</p>
<p><em>“The small folk know what’s what.” </em>Sera was fond of saying and Varric is inclined to agree. <em>What happens when one of the small folk gets raised up, chewed up and spit out by the big folk?</em> Varric muses, his eyes drawn to the pile of pages that Lani had dropped on his desk. He leans forward, snatching them up and settling back in his chair to comb through them.</p>
<p>He is always deeply flattered that Lani chooses to share them with him alone. Not even Solas was ever permitted a treasured glimpse of them. Varric’s mouth twists sourly when the apostate comes to mind. He will never understand what madness drove Solas to behave as he had.</p>
<p>Varric had not been remotely discouraged, when Solas’ rebuffed his initial friendly overtures - he had befriended far more taciturn elves than Solas. So he had allowed himself a small smile of victory, the first time he heard the polite cough behind him, soon after they settled at Skyhold. Solas had emerged from his cave, standing stiffly in the doorway behind Varric’s chair.</p>
<p><em>“You’ve had experience with red lyrium, I understand?”</em> Solas had asked and that was how their early conversations began. All business and irrelevant pleasantries - remarking on the renovations to the fortress, or asking Varric for his perspective on the spark that fuelled the mage rebellion - the razing of Kirkwall.</p>
<p>That was how they carried on, never knowing when Solas might quietly approach him, but certainly relieved that he was opening up to <em>someone</em>. Though Solas took great pains to keep them all at arms length, Varric could sense the terrible loneliness within him. They had bonded even further, over their mutual concern for the Kid.</p>
<p><em>Cole. Whatever had gone wrong there?</em> Varric still didn’t entirely understand Tranquility. He knew it was perverse. He’d witnessed the abuses perpetrated in the Kirkwall Circle himself and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. He understood though, that his feelings paled compared to the visceral terror and rage his mage friends felt, when confronted by someone made Tranquil. He tried to imagine what it would be like, having some essential part of himself stripped away. The very idea was upsetting, yet Tranquil mages could no longer even feel such distress. As much as magic seemed frightening and unnatural to Varric, <em>that</em> was even more so.</p>
<p>So whatever happened to Lani, he didn’t really comprehend it. It seemed to him, that she continued to think and feel as she always had. She certainly didn’t lack for moments of distress and Varric scowls, sour thoughts turning once again to Solas.</p>
<p><em>“The Inquisitor seems to enjoy writing too,”</em> Solas had remarked offhandedly one day, as he watched Varric scribbling furious. He’d looked up from the latest chapter he was drafting, to note the very controlled look on Solas’ face. The determinedly neutral expression. Varric stifled a wry chortle, as everything clicked into place.</p>
<p>He was not offended to learn that Solas had approached him - had struck up a slow friendship - with the intent to feel him out about Lani. Varric rather pitied him in that moment.</p>
<p><em>Pity! </em>Varric scoffs at the memory. Hard to imagine now, that he’d ever felt sorrow on behalf of Solas. He didn’t deserve it. His anger at the elf is dwarfed only by his anger at himself. Varric can’t believe he fell for Solas’ humble, polite and harmless routine. To think he eagerly encouraged Solas to pursue the Inquisitor - mindful all the time, of the tragedy that seems to follow agents of destiny. He thought of Hawke and how she’d slowly lost her entire family - only to then witness Anders descend ever deeper into madness. His passion for mage freedom turning into a dangerous, violent obsession.</p>
<p>Varric had cheered Solas on, willing him to dive-in headfirst, because who knew how much time one had where heroes are concerned. Even though a part of him worried -</p>
<p><em>Worried that Solas would suffer a broken heart! </em>Guilt and rage churn inside Varric<em>.</em></p>
<p>He can still recall how shocked he was, the first time he heard Lani’s girlish giggle echoing out through the doorway from the Rotunda. The Inquisitor did <em>not</em> giggle. She laughed with wild abandon; she chuckled; she guffawed. Ofttimes, she was so overwrought she would shake, crying silent tears of mirth. She most definitely did <em>not</em> giggle. When she had swept past him - giddy and flush with affection - Varric had felt proud. He felt he had done something right and good - bringing light into her bleak and dangerous life.</p>
<p>Then came then day the elves returned together from Crestwood. Solas, stone-faced and grim. Lani, <em>bare-faced</em> and bewildered. Solas would not be drawn on the subject, no matter how cunning Varric was - how carefully he laid his words to try and broach the subject. Lani would not speak either and Varric could not bring himself to pick at her obvious wounds. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so pleased with himself anymore.</p>
<p>Cole invariably flittered between the two, upset and agitated by their behaviour. It was clear the boy didn’t know how to process the emotions he was experiencing. The anguish of Compassion - unable to provide succour to his closest friends. Rage flares deep inside Varric. All that pain and for what? Solas could give no reasonable explanation for his actions - other than to say how deeply he regretted them. He didn’t just spurn Lani, he closed everyone back out. Varric, Blackwall, Bull - anyone that had managed to build some semblance of a friendship with him.</p>
<p>Til at last, he simply up and vanished. It was clear to Varric now, Solas was not the man he thought he was. He was a coward. A selfish, callous coward; leaving misery and confusion in his wake. He shakes his head ruefully, turning his attention back to Lani’s poems.</p>
<p>She has improved a great deal, from the first set she had given him. He wonders how long she has been working on some of them. Surely she did not write all of this in one night, unless she had been driven by some divine inspiration. He studies her words, looking for signs of strain; the ramblings of a mad-woman. But they are lucid, tightly crafted and evocative. There is one in particular he is desperate to share with the Seeker and he will have to see if he can cajole Lani into giving him permission to share it.</p>
<p>If she truly were Tranquil, would it even be possible for her to write with such emotion; such raw honesty? The only one that gives him pause, is a piece he presumes to be about Solas, sitting at the very bottom of the stack. The tone of it is darker than the others and yet, it seems an ardent declaration of her affection for him. A promise that it has not, and will not ever wane.</p>
<p><em>You deserve better</em>, Varric’s guts twist with remorse. The fire crackles ominously in the hearth beside him and Varric carefully bundles up the pages, placing them securely in his satchel. He’d learnt the hard way that Lani would toss her words into the fire given the chance. He couldn’t bear to see it. He doesn’t know yet what he will do with them, other than keeping them safe. But it feels too important - it’s not often that heroes chronicle their life and experiences in their own words.</p>
<p>The topic of publishing her work had arisen, after they returned from the Frostback Basin. Lani had been particularly morose after learning the fate of Inquisitor Ameridan - that the Chantry had erased his identity. However, Lani had shot down his suggestion immediately.</p>
<p><em>“You assume they even want the truth. Haven't I given enough of myself already?”</em> Lani had remarked bitterly and so Varric had let the subject slide. Biding his time til she was perhaps more receptive to the idea. Though when that would ever be, given the endless tragedies and crises they face, he has no idea.</p>
<p>As though summoned by his thoughts, Lani comes striding into the Hall. She has a furtive air about her - skittish, like a horse on the verge of bolting.</p>
<p>“Hey Lani,” he calls her over, hoping she will pause to speak with him this time. “Are you ok?” His stomach drops at the look of despair that sweeps over her face.</p>
<p>“There is no end to it, Varric,” she bemoans. “No reprieve.” Varric stews with resentment. Whoever put her into this state was going to get some choice words from him, and maybe a bolt in the ass for good measure.</p>
<p>“Take a seat Lani and-"</p>
<p>“Inquisitor!” Cullen comes rushing into the hall and Lani visibly starts at the sound of his voice. She quickly recovers, quirking her eyebrow sardonically at Varric, as if to say,‘See, told you.’ Varric sighs heavily. She seemed so despairing a moment ago, but it is a good sign that she still has a sense of humour about it all.</p>
<p>Lani steps aside with Cullen, and Varric pretends to be reading his letters, ears fixed on their exchange. Cullen is agitated, but that seems to be his default setting, as far as Varric can tell. Much in the same way that Cassandra always appeared to be irate. He wonders sometimes if it is simply an aspect of being human. Not that he didn’t know his fair share of humourless dwarves, but humans on average seemed to take themselves far too seriously.</p>
<p>It would appear that one of the elves from the Temple of Mythal has come to speak with Lani. A terrible sinking feeling settles into Varric’s stomach; ancient elven magic and artefacts just smell like trouble to him.</p>
<p>Cullen disappears to retrieve the elf and Varric draws in a sharp breath, as Lani heads for the Rotunda. He can’t imagine what has possessed her, to meet the elf there, when she has actively avoided the place since Solas rejected her.</p>
<p>He waits patiently, as Lani passes from view and then eases from his seat, quietly approaching the entrance to the Rotunda. He leans against the archway, cocking his ear toward the room, listening to the quiet pad of Lani’s feet over the stone floor. Soon enough, he can make out the low, rumbling tones of her guest, though he cannot catch specific words, as they remain on the far side.</p>
<p>“Varric!” Cassandra’s stern voice spooks him and Varric bites his tongue, clamping down on the startled cry that near escapes him. He turns, heart thumping in his chest and presses his finger to his lips, entreating the Seeker to lower her voice. “Have you seen Lani?” she asks, ignoring his request and Varric steps away from the doorway, putting his body between Cassandra and the Rotunda entrance.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t disturb her right now, if I were you,” Varric cautions and Cassandra scowls at him. “She’s meeting privately with a guest.”</p>
<p>“A guest? Who?” Cassandra looks anxiously toward the Rotunda.</p>
<p>“One of those elves she met in the Arbor Wilds.”</p>
<p>Cassandra’s eyebrows rise sharply in surprise, “What are they talking about?”</p>
<p>“Well, I <em>was</em> trying to listen,” Varric drawls. Cassandra tries to step around him, her jaw tight with determination. Varric grabs her wrist, “Just let them be, Seeker.”</p>
<p>“Have either of you seen Lani?” Dorian thunders into the Hall.</p>
<p>“You too?” Varric exclaims, throwing up his hands.</p>
<p>“She’s meeting with one of the elves from the Arbor Wilds, apparently.”</p>
<p>Dorian’s eyes narrow, “Not Abelas, by any chance?”</p>
<p>“That <em>is</em> the name Lani mentioned,” Varric affirms and Dorian cradles his chin in his hand, falling into silent introspection.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Cassandra prods at length.</p>
<p>“Solas and Abelas seemed to… share a moment, at the Temple.” Dorian shakes his head slowly, “I’m not exactly sure what they said, the elven Solas spoke was so archaic…”</p>
<p>“You don’t actually <em>believe</em> what Lani was saying last night?” Cassandra scoffs.</p>
<p>“I don’t know! Solas and Cole were always so chummy. Now they’re both gone, who knows where, and Lani is rambling and frightened and <em>broken</em>. The day after she returns, an ancient elf turns up and you don’t think the timing is a little <em>too</em> coincidental?”</p>
<p>“I think you give that callous ass far too much credit. And Cole was misguided, but he wasn’t <em>sinister,</em>” Varric interjects before Cassandra can respond, feeling like he is being pushed out of this conversation.</p>
<p>He can’t help the resentment that bubbles up inside at the thought. These are the very same people that took it upon themselves to keep Lani’s disappearance from him. Not once did it seem to occur to them, to consult with him or Blackwall - or even Sera - about why the Inquisitor might have left or where she would have gone.</p>
<p>Not that <em>he</em> would have given up such information and Cassandra knows that. She’d learned, despite her greatest and most violent efforts, that Varric would never betray his friends.</p>
<p><em>And I was right about that!</em> There was no doubt, Hawke would have died in the explosion at the Conclave. Indeed, if Varric had known that Lani was <em>safely</em> gone, he would have cheered her on and hoped she might never return.</p>
<p>He can’t help but wish though - as much as he wants his friends to stay clear of trouble - that Hawke were here now. The mad Champion, who went rushing into danger with no plan in mind; just a big, big heart. She’d know the right thing to do. Hawke would <em>make </em>them listen.</p>
<p>Dorian turns from Cassandra, blinking at Varric, as though he had in fact forgotten the dwarf was even there. “Cole himself confessed, that he feared a mage could at any moment compel him. Could take control of him because of his nature.”</p>
<p>Varric pulls up short, “Well yeah, but…”</p>
<p>“What if someone already <em>had</em>?” Dorian asserts.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you being a tiny bit paranoid?” Varric accuses and Dorian rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I’m angry at Solas, same as anyone. But you think he’s some dangerous mastermind, manipulating Cole and these <em>supposed</em> ancient elves from some forgotten temple?”</p>
<p>Dorian and Cassandra exchange a panicked look and a sense of dread unfurls its tendrils in Varric’s chest.</p>
<p>“Alright, let’s hear it. <em>What</em> is going on?”</p>
<p>Dorian shrugs resignedly, “Lani thinks-”</p>
<p>“Lani is confused and vulnerable,” Cassandra interrupts, glaring at Dorian. “She woke screaming last night and then never went back to bed. It is irresponsible and dangerous to let the Inquisitor wander around alone when we don’t know the true state of her mind.”</p>
<p>“You can’t be certain of anyone’s true state of mind Seeker, but she seems pretty lucid to me. She <em>seems</em> like herself,” Varric can see that Cassandra is not moved by his words.</p>
<p>“Like <em>herself</em>?” Dorian exclaims. “You didn’t hear what she said to Bull. She threatened to ship him back to Par Vollen. To get <em>re-educated</em>, or worse!” Dorian is clearly aggrieved by the notion. Varric might have assumed it related to Tranquility, a topic currently foremost in everyone’s minds. But it seems to cut deeper than that for Dorian - hitting a far more personal nerve. “That’s <em>not</em> the Inquisitor I know,” the Tevene’s handsome features twist with unbearable grief and he turns his back to them.</p>
<p>Varric frowns, silently admitting that Dorian is right. That doesn’t sound like something Lani would say. Not even to a hated enemy.</p>
<p>“It would be foolish to assume she is fine, after what she has been through, after what Cole did. There could be any number of untold side-effects, no-one has <em>ever</em> successfully reversed Tranquility in a mage. The only attempted case I know of, the mage went insane and the Seekers were forced to kill him.”</p>
<p>“That is <em>not</em> going to happen!” Varric has tried to remain calm in the face of Dorian and Cassandra’s determined infantilising of Lani, but Cassandra has gone too far now. How could she even consider violence - <em>murder</em> - as a possible solution? It seems to Varric that the only ones that have lost their grip on sanity was the pair of humans. "Was she even fully Tranquil in the first place? None of us even noticed any difference!” Varric continues. “Whatever the case, the Tranquility seems reversed, she’s no threat to anyone. This is <em>Lani</em> we’re talking about here!” he pleads with them, desperate for them to see reason.</p>
<p>Silence falls in the Hall and as Varric takes a glance around, he realises that a number of people have gathered at a distance, watching their heated exchange with great interest. He buries his head in his hands, releasing an exasperated groan.</p>
<p>“What was her nightmare about?” Dorian asks quietly, having composed himself enough to turn back to them.</p>
<p>“She would not tell me,” Cassandra laments.The Necromancer and the Seeker exchange another hapless look.</p>
<p>“<em>Enough</em> of that already!” Varric hisses, trying to keep his voice low. “If you two know something pertinent, perhaps you ought to share it, instead of making unilateral decisions about what <em>you</em> think is best for the Inquisitor.”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t agree more,” Lani announces tightly. The three of them start at the sound of her voice, turning their gaze to where she stands, beneath the Rotunda archway.</p>
<p>Dorian winces apologetically, “Birdie-”</p>
<p>“Don’t. Even. Start.” she cuts him off, each word grinding out from between clenched teeth. She strides slowly toward them, with such a tense aura of menace that even Varric flinches and withers under her piercing gaze. “I had a potential ally in there, or at the very least, an opportunity to track down Solas. Until he overheard all of <em>you</em>, shouting about how dangerous and unstable I am.”</p>
<p>Lani does not shout - her voice is flat, tightly modulated and still the hairs on the back of Varric’s neck prickle with alarm. There is something in her voice - he does not hear it, he<em> feels </em>it<em>.</em></p>
<p>Suddenly he is a young boy, sitting at his father’s feet, as Andvar attempts to explain to Bartrand and Varric what it means to have stone sense. How it feels when the stone sings to you - a voice in your body and heart - guiding you, protecting you. Lamenting the fact that every day on the surface, he slowly feels it feeling slipping away, leaving him empty inside.</p>
<p>Varric senses something akin to that right now. It is screaming in the primal core of him - <em>Run!</em></p>
<p>Run as far and as fast as his short legs can carry him. The fact he feels this way however, convinces him he needs to stay. If something terrible is about to happen, more than ever, he needs to stay to keep Lani safe.</p>
<p>“Forget about Solas, Lani,” Dorian entreats. “You agreed that it was wise to take some time, to not jump to conclusions.”</p>
<p>“We <em>need</em> to find Solas,” she insists and finally frees them from her fierce stare. She casts about herself, as though looking for answers. “Something terrible is coming, I can feel it.” She digs her fists into her abdomen and Varric’s eyes go wide.</p>
<p><em>Is it Lani’s fear I’m feeling?</em> That would be a great relief, even though he doesn’t understand how it could be possible.</p>
<p>“Lani, you’ve been having nightmares, you haven’t slept,” Cassandra steps forward, trying to reason with her. She reaches out, as though to touch Lani, but thinks better of it, her hand falling to her side. “You must be exhausted. You’ve been through a trauma and you’re not thinking clearly.”</p>
<p>“And you’re not <em>listening</em> to me,” Lani hisses in frustration. “If you won’t hear me then you should just go. Go back to Tevinter, go back to Kirkwall,” she fixes each of them in turn with an anguished grimace. Her teary-eyed dismissal twists in Varric’s heart like a dagger. “Go and claim your sunburst <em>throne</em>. I don’t need people that won’t <em>listen</em> to me.”</p>
<p>“Listen to you? Listen to yourself! This isn’t like you,” Dorian fires back.</p>
<p>“Like me?” Lani laughs - a mirthless, pitching rattle. “How would any of you know what is ‘like me’? Cole carved out entire pieces of me and none of you even noticed. Or perhaps you didn’t care to, so long as I did what you wanted. Such a good, compliant Inquisitor.” All three of them shrink under the truth of her words. “Now I have my mind back and that doesn’t suit you at all. Out here conspiring against me.”</p>
<p>“Conspiring?” Cassandra is aghast at the accusation. “That is not true Lani, we are only worried for you. We just want to help.”</p>
<p>“No!” Lani shouts, raising her voice for the first time. Immediately, Varric’s heart begins to beat a rapid staccato and he wills himself to hold his ground, his feet trying to move of their own accord. “You all think you know what I need, better than I do. You have no right to force <em>your</em> choices on me!”</p>
<p>Varric breathes in sharply, the true source of her anger becoming clear. He mentally kicks himself for not realising sooner. This argument is more about Cole and Solas than anything else. Such an immense betrayal has shaken her faith in all of them. Pushing them all away - out of misplaced fear and pain - when what she needs more than ever is their support. He can see now why Cassandra and Dorian are worried. As misguided as they can be, they are right in this respect - Lani is <em>not</em> thinking rationally.</p>
<p>“Ok Lani, you’re right,” Varric raises his palms toward her in entreaty, “Tell me, what can we do? I’m listening, I’m here for you.” Lani studies him, lines of tension slowly easing from her features.</p>
<p><em>This is good</em>, he thinks. This is clear evidence to him, that she can recognise he is in earnest; that she hasn’t lost all reason and can still see who her friends are. At last, her anger seems to crumble away entirely, leaving her so exposed and vulnerable, Varric’s heart breaks at the sight of it. <em>It’s not right</em>, he wants to shout, <em>it’s not fair!</em></p>
<p>“So you <em>are</em> here, Inquisitor,” Vivienne’s supercilious drawl cuts through the precious moment.</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit!</em>
  
</p>
<p>Lani’s eyebrows knit and Varric fixes Vivienne with a murderous glare. He’d be hard pressed to imagine a worse person to throw onto this powder keg.</p>
<p>
  <em>Solas himself would have to saunter through the door.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I did a quick little portrait of Sulahnean. From happier times, before the horror that was Crestwood *cries*<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. A Void In All Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Imperial Enchanter Vivienne has descended from on high, sensing an opportunity to further her own agenda. Contrary to her expectations however, the Inquisitor’s friends quickly close ranks in defence of Lani.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm breaking from my usual pattern of alternating with a Solas POV chapter - because what was supposed to be one chapter kind of ballooned out into three and I just want to get the timelines  matched up.</p>
<p>And then we can all do the time warp to Trespasser - yay....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where else would I be, Vivienne?” Lani dissembles, feigning ignorance. Dorian’s breath seizes, as he glances between the two women. The hot, prickling caress of Lani’s magic - so familiar to him from countless battles fought side-by-side - had begun to abate. There had been a clear easing in the air around them, Varric’s words seeming to reach the Inquisitor. With Vivienne’s arrival however, it returns - an aggravated spark, just waiting to be fanned into a flame.</p>
<p>“There have been some alarming murmurs in the corridors lately,” Vivienne asserts. Dorian scoffs quietly, it must be a torment for the Imperial Enchanter; to sense a moment of import and not be in control of it.</p>
<p>He recalls that Vivienne eagerly jumped at the chance to aid the Inquisition. Giving up her post at Court on the assumption it would be a fast track to even greater power and influence. It is perhaps the only miscalculation Dorian has ever seen her make. For all her political savvy, the Enchanter never predicted that she would be completely frozen out by an uncultured Dalish elf.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you have been so long at Court, you can no longer discern fact from idle gossip,” Lani delivers blandly.</p>
<p>“I assure you, my <em>dear -</em> I have not held my position and power for so long by listening to baseless rumours.”</p>
<p>Lani politely inclines her head toward the Enchanter - an acknowledgement of defeat - and Vivienne’s mouth curls with a small smirk of triumph. Dorian slowly blows the stale air from his lungs. Perhaps it would all be well. They just needed to get Lani up to her room and away from any stress. Give her time to properly heal; give <em>them</em> time to figure out a way to help her do so.</p>
<p>“It was not my intent to disparage your many… <em>many,</em> years of experience,” Lani drawls sweetly, and Dorian is caught somewhere between an horrified gasp and an amused chortle. It emerges as a choking cough and he waves an apology toward Vivienne. She eyes him with a baleful glare, but her mouth - that tiny, near imperceptible quirk remains. A chill shudders through him. He’d grown up in the midst of the dangerous machinations of the Magisterium. He knows this cunning, self-satisfied look all too well. The face of someone that offers you their hand in friendship, whilst slipping poison into your drink with the other.</p>
<p>Vivienne is no fool. She had taken up her perch above the Great Hall, in much the same way Varric had claimed his. Seeing all, <em>hearing</em> all. The Enchanter used every ounce of guile she had, to carve a place for herself in a hostile environment. Biding her time, waiting for an opportunity - for this exact moment.</p>
<p>“If you intend to take advantage of Orlais’ current vulnerability, to restore an Elven Empire with your new <em>friends</em>, let me remind you of what happened in Halamshiral’s slums. You would see such slaughter in every alienage across Thedas. Do not think for a moment, that the Chantry would not turn on you Inquisitor. That they would not call another Exalted March.”</p>
<p>“I would do no such thing!” Cassandra protests and Lani crosses her arms, eyeing Vivienne with barely veiled contempt.</p>
<p>“Let’s not be jumping to extreme’s here,” Varric interjects. He steps toward Lani, silently entreating her to leave with him. Dorian wonders if the dwarf has sussed out Vivienne’s intent as well.</p>
<p>“I’ll not be chased off, in <em>my</em> home, Varric,” Lani stubbornly insists.</p>
<p>“And when Dalish thugs run rampant amongst the populace? Indiscriminately murdering innocents - as we all know they are <em>wont</em> to do.” Lani bares her teeth at the slur on her people’s honour. “Would you not defend your people, Cassandra? Is that not your duty, as Divine?”</p>
<p>Cassandra splutters uselessly, unable to spring to Lani’s defence when the reality of her impending duty as Divine has been invoked. The Inquisitor frowns - her magic briefly flaring - clearly disappointed by Cassandra’s lack of support. Dorian wonders just how much Vivienne actually knows. Is her desire merely to create an irreparable rift between Lani and her support network?</p>
<p>“You are grasping at straws Enchanter, to what end I do not know,” Lani grinds out and relief floods through Dorian; glad that she is not allowing herself to be goaded by Vivienne. “Whatever I discussed with Abelas is none of your concern.”</p>
<p>“My apologies, Inquisitor,” Vivienne gasps, as though mortified that anyone was offended by her remarks. “I only meant to offer kindly advice.”</p>
<p>Varric makes a skeptical noise in his throat and he tries again to guide Lani away, but she shrugs him off.</p>
<p>“Not that you’ve ever heeded my advice in the past. In any event, do take care not to fall in <em>love</em> with this one.” Vivienne’s eyes gleam at the expression of pain that ripples over Lani’s face. With every passing moment, Vivienne hones the precision of her attack and seeing a chink, she prepares to make a killing blow.</p>
<p>Dorian rushes forward, putting himself between Lani and Vivienne. Lani backs away from him, agitated and restless. He can feel the magic rippling out from her; heat lashing at his back.</p>
<p>“That’s quite enough!” he barks. “I’m sure you’ve better things to do. Helpless orphans to devour, or some such.”</p>
<p>Vivienne laughs at his efforts, “A smelly apostate breaks her heart and she’s ready to burn the whole place down.”</p>
<p>“It’s considerably more complicated than that,” Dorian snaps back.</p>
<p>“It seems straight-forward enough to me. Falling for a man that clearly eschews all sense of duty and community. Living a solitary life in the wilderness and prizing his freedom above all else. How foolish could you be?” Vivienne’s cultured voice oozes derision.</p>
<p>“It’s not foolish to care for others. Though I doubt a cold-hearted bitch like you would know anything about it,” Varric spits.</p>
<p>“Why are you even defending her? I heard what you all said. What <em>she</em> said to Bull,” Vivienne looks pointedly at Dorian. “Attacking all of you, because she can’t face her own naïveté. Now <em>we’re</em> at fault, for thinking we know better? When we <em>did</em> know better.” She glances past him to Lani, “Take responsibility for your own poor decisions, Inquisitor, and stop lashing out at those who warned you about imprudent entanglements.”</p>
<p>“That’s your helpful contribution is it? ‘I told you so’?” Dorian jeers.</p>
<p>“If the Inquisitor wants to <em>behave</em> like a petulant child, my dear, she cannot complain when she is treated as such.”</p>
<p>“Leave now, or I will make you,” Cassandra growls, her hands curling into a pair of menacing clubs.</p>
<p>“Is the truth so unpalatable to you, <em>Seeker,</em>” Vivienne sneers haughtily. “Honestly, Solas was probably as tired as the rest of us, of carrying such an incompetent to victory. I doubt he actually cared for her.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>fuck you</em>, Madam!” Dorian is at the end of his patience and Cassandra strides toward the Enchanter.”</p>
<p>“How <em>could </em>he love a clinging, needy infant - so incapable of satisfying his intellectual or emotional needs? I’m sure I don’t even need to mention the lack of <em>physical</em> gratification.”</p>
<p>“You know <em>NOTHING</em>!” Lani shouts, her voice thundering through the vaulted space of the Great Hall. Dorian falls to the floor, clutching at his pounding head; ears ringing. A quick glance shows his friends, and the spectators that had gathered, to be in a similar state. All except Lani. She stands with her eyes screwed shut and face contorted in pain; her body shaking with barely contained rage.</p>
<p>“We’re fucked,” Varric squeaks - wide eyed and the colour draining from his face.Dorian’s exposed skin begins to prickle once again with heat and with it comes an unfamiliar phenomenon. As the Anchor flares to life in Lani’s hand, there is a tugging sensation - not just all around him, but inside him too - drawing toward Lani.</p>
<p>“Oh dear, did I hit a nerve?” Vivienne drawls, unperturbed by the outburst. She rises to her feet, dusting herself off. Her hands still at the sound of the low, sadistic chuckle that oozes out of Lani.</p>
<p>The Inquisitor’s eyes snap open, a pair of blazing red pits that bore into them all. “But you will <em>learn,</em>” Lani’s canines flash in a manic, twisted grin.</p>
<p>Anguished cries ring out, as the temperature in the Hall spikes sharply; Dorian gasping as pain flares all through his body. It feels like his blood is beginning to boil. Sweat streams down his face and he tries to summon a barrier, to create a pocket of safety around them - but he cannot manifest it. He attempts something else, a spell to disrupt Lani or knock her unconscious, but he is utterly powerless. He gapes at Lani in horror - that pulling sensation, she was siphoning all connection to the Fade to herself.</p>
<p>“Kaffas” he utters in panic, catching Cassandra’s eye. The Seeker’s hands are thrust before her, as she attempts to dampen Lani’s connection to the Fade. She scowls, shaking her head helplessly at Dorian, when her efforts have no discernible effect. The chair beside Dorian suddenly combusts and he stumbles clear, the oppressive heat draining the strength from his limbs. The panic in the Hall reaches frantic levels, as all around them furnishings catch fire.</p>
<p><em>How long before we spontaneously combust?</em> Dorian wonders, actually thinking it might be preferable to slowly braising in his own juices - his sweat practically sizzling on his skin.</p>
<p>“Just put her down already, Seeker,” Vivienne remarks, sounding utterly bored despite the peril they were clearly in.</p>
<p>“Hold on a minute!” Varric protests.</p>
<p>Vivienne scoffs, “Why? So she can destroy us all?”</p>
<p>“You keep <em>pushing</em> her and it’ll happen!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Varric…” Cassandra falters.</p>
<p>“You can't be serious! Dorian?” Varric pleads for him to weigh in with support.</p>
<p>Enveloped in curling flame, a crazed euphoria has swept over Lani’s features and she arches her back, revelling in the power that courses through her. In the next moment she trembles and a sob falls from her lips. She swipes her hand across her cheeks, blazing eyes glaring at the tears that have dared to fall upon them. Lani snarls, claw-like hands closing into fists, as she screams again. Dorian claps his hands over his ears, but even so he feels her anguished howl, shuddering deep in his bones.</p>
<p>The temperature in the Hall ratchets up further, a blast of dry heat burning Dorian’s eyes and he squeezes them closed. The sweat that runs down his face pools in the creases, stinging like acid, as it seeps past his tightly shut eyelids.</p>
<p>“Varric,” he shakes his head helplessly, ineffectually mopping his face with his sleeve, “I don’t know what to do!”</p>
<p>“Neither do I! I don’t understand half the crazy shit that happens around here. But it doesn’t mean we don’t try!"</p>
<p>“We’re going to roast alive, if we don’t do something soon,” Cassandra remarks, struggling to take a step forward, then another one.</p>
<p>“No more trying… no more pain,” Lani announces, almost tenderly - as though she was murdering them all for their own good. “This world shall burn.”</p>
<p>“Lani, please!” Cassandra begs, her hand falling to her sword.<br/><br/>“Do it now, Seeker!” Vivienne exhorts. Dorian turns his head, peeling his eyes open to glare at her. He had been far too generous in his estimation of Vivienne’s intent - he had not thought she was so vindictive, as to want to actually harm Lani. He has failed them all, Lani especially.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I felt like I was losing my mind.”</em>
  
</p>
<p>The Inquisitor’s confession rings clear in his memory - they had not heeded her words. They had become so complacent, trusting that Lani always had everything under control.</p>
<p><em>She seemed so reasonable last night</em>, he muses, frantically thinking back, trying to see if there were signs of this madness. <em>And the Anchor</em>… he kicks himself again. She warned them, the power of the Anchor was greater than they knew. He should have stepped in sooner, he should had done more to keep her safe, instead of allowing his own feelings to dictate his actions and words.</p>
<p>When Bull told him something was off, when he said Lani had threatened him with the re-educators, it had cut Dorian so deeply. He couldn’t bear to hear such hypocrisy from Lani - after what had been done to her - after he’d told her that Dorian’s own father tried to alter <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>His outrage had blinded him, to a fact he knew deep down. That none of this - none of what Lani had said or done since her return - reflected the truth of her heart. Now they were caught in this impossible crisis and it was either them - or Lani. Not that he has much hope of making it out of this alive.</p>
<p>“If you allow her to become an abomination,” Vivienne’s sneering voice cuts into his introspection, “think of what that means. She can tear holes through the Veil. She could bring a demon army through at her command!”</p>
<p>“Oh, Enchanter,” Lani purrs, “what a marvellous idea.” Lani thrusts the Anchor forward, smirking gleefully, as a rift opens directly behind Vivienne.</p>
<p>A tiny, hysterical giggle bubbles out of Dorian’s mouth. All of Vivienne’s arguments were futile - there was never going to be a moment, not once they reached this point, that any of them could stop Lani. Even facing his own fiery demise, he can’t help the immense satisfaction he feels, seeing the moment that this realisation finally dawns upon Vivienne. The abject shock and horror that sweeps over her face, as she is pulled - screaming and thrashing - through the rift into the Fade.</p>
<p>Dorian glances desperately around the Hall, seeking aid in any form.Everywhere he looks there are people caught, helpless just like him - being slowly boiled alive by Lani’s seething rage.</p>
<p>“Inquisitor!” Cullen’s voice reaches them from outside the Hall. He has arrived with armed soldiers and steps aside, directing a handful of mages to break through Lani’s barrier. No matter what they try however, the magic is absorbed, dissipating harmlessly across the crackling, green partition.</p>
<p><em>No hope, no escape</em>, Dorian curls inward, trying to block the doomed thoughts that threaten to chase the last vestiges of resolve out of him.</p>
<p>“Don’t do it!” Varric shouts, as Cassandra inches ever nearer to the Inquisitor. Dorian can see the silent choice play out over Cassandra’s face. Immense sorrow becomes resignation, and as Cassandra takes in all the imperilled people gathered in the Hall, it hardens into resolve. The Seeker draws her blade.</p>
<p>A screech erupts from the open rift, fuelling the urgency of Cassandra’s steps, as she struggles to push toward Lani.</p>
<p><em>What terrible irony,</em> Dorian thinks, as long, taloned claws emerge from the rippling portal. For this to be how it ends for them all - after all the rifts they had closed and all the demons they destroyed. He backs away from the rift, but it feels like moving through the sinking bogs of the Fallow Mire. Every step is a struggle, every breath becomes increasingly laboured.</p>
<p>“Shit! Seeker!” Varric cries out in panic. Cassandra is on her knees, clawing at her throat and gasping for breath where there is none. She has passed over a threshold, into a space where Lani’s flames burn away all the oxygen.</p>
<p>“It isn’t personal, Seeker,” Lani declares, watching with detached neutrality as Cassandra crumples in a heap.</p>
<p>“Lani!” Dorian begs. “You’re right, we don’t know, we can’t ever know what you’ve been through. How much pain you’ve been in, and I’m sorry!” He tries to keep it together, but he knows he is blubbering like a frightened child. “But I <em>know</em> you would never hurt innocent people, your friends. That’s <em>not</em> you!”</p>
<p>Varric is crawling on his hands and knees, inching toward Cassandra. At last, his hands land on her foot and he heaves with all his might, pulling Cassandra back towards himself. As she is pulled clear, she shudders, gasping in huge lungfuls of air with a pained sob.</p>
<p>Dorian’s relief is cut short by the rumbling growl over his shoulder. He raises his arms defensively, as he turns to face the Terror. Instinctively, he attempts to weave a spell, but not even a single spark of magic lights on his fingertips. He has never felt so utterly helpless in his life, his heart pounding and frenzied in his chest. He stares up into the gaping maw of the demon - spittle dripping from rows of razor fangs. Its bony, whip-like tail thrusts forward, slashing across Dorian. He cries out as it tears a gash along his forearm. He steels himself, as its talons rake toward him.</p>
<p>A piece of steel, dripping with black demon ichor, bursts from the Terror’s chest. A second pierces through its head and the creature falls to the floor. Cole rolls neatly from his perch on the demon’s back, coming to rest beside Dorian. Vivienne is not far behind him, shaken and bloodied - but alive.</p>
<p>“You are not welcome here!” Lani shrieks the moment she catches sight of Cole.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Cole declares, his voice choked with remorse, as he moves away. He seems unaffected by the aura that slows them all, as he attempts to circle around Lani. Lani redirects her anger at Cole, unleashing a directed blast of magic. It burns a funnel between Lani and Cole, melting the floor of the keep. Cole vanishes suddenly and her attack crashes into the wall, bricks exploding at the impact. More demons swarm from the rift, as Cassandra and Varric scurry out of the blast zone. Cassandra raises her sword, putting herself between them all and the emerging demons.</p>
<p>“Show yourself!” Lani snarls, searching for any sign of Cole. “I’m going to tear <em>you</em> to pieces!”</p>
<p>“Be calm.” Cole materialises behind Lani and wraps his arms around her. She stiffens at the contact and then falls limp. Dorian feels it immediately, as though a great, oppressive weight has been lifted off of him.</p>
<p>“Step aside, Cassandra,” he warns, as he draws the energies of the Fade into himself. He unleashes an electrical storm upon the demons that swarm into the Hall. Cassandra dives in after, slashing the demons as they writhe on the ground. Vivienne dashes forward too, her spirit blade cutting a devastating swathe through the monsters.</p>
<p>“Beat them back!” Cullen and his troops rush into the keep with the falling of Lani’s barriers.</p>
<p><em>Lani</em>, Dorian turns to where Cole has laid her on the floor. It seems strange, that it takes a mere handful of strides to reach her, when moments ago there seemed an impassable void between them.</p>
<p>“I tried not to interfere. I tried so hard, Inquisitor, I swear,” Cole hovers over her, morose and apologetic. “But I couldn’t stand by and let them die, because of what I did.” Lani is curled tight on the floor and Dorian touches her shoulder. She flinches at the contact, cringing away from him in fear and shame.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to hurt you,” he gently murmurs, pulling her into the circle of his arms, even though she resists. “It’s going to be alright. We’re going to make it right.”</p>
<p>“But I hurt you,” she wails, “I was going to-”</p>
<p>“Please, I’ve had more fiery arguments with my mother,” Dorian scoffs in an attempt at humour, even though his guts still clench in fear. Lani shakes against him, heaving sobs wracking her frame. He gently rubs her back, “Right now though, we really need you to close that rift.”</p>
<p>Lani slides her hand around the side of him, reaching blindly toward the rift. Dorian has never been this close to her - never been in <em>contact</em> with her - when she has used the Anchor. He can feel the immense thrumming of it and a sickening sort of <em>displacement </em>in his flesh closest to her hand. The rift closes; discordant, angry screeches of foiled demons suddenly cutting off. The power of the Anchor subsides and Dorian presses Lani tighter against him - both horrified at the sensation of the Anchor and in awe of her resilience. He doesn’t know if he could bear such a terrible curse, let alone use it, over and over without complaint, for as long as she has.</p>
<p>She mutters a string of elvish against his chest. It sounds like a prayer -an anguished plea for aid. He strokes her hair and shivers, suddenly feeling terribly cold in his sweat soaked clothes.</p>
<p>“I never thought I’d be so happy to see you, Kid,” Varric declares, clapping Cole on the shoulder. Cole frowns however, as he surveys the chaos around them. Cullen and the main contingent of his troops are putting down the last of the demons. A second group slash burning tapestries from the walls, smothering the flames before they can spread beyond the keep. All around the Hall, dignitaries and other civilians help each other to their feet, clutching each other tight and a number of them openly weeping in relief.</p>
<p>A small cluster of elves prostrate themselves in one corner of the Hall, their pleading voices reaching Dorian over the cacophony of shouts and screeching demons.</p>
<p>“Lanaste! Lanaste, Leanathe, lanaste!” they cry, with their faces pressed to the stone, their fervour making Dorian uneasy.</p>
<p>“We should probably get you out of here,” Dorian suggests to Lani.</p>
<p>“I should never have come back,” Lani clutches at her head, despairing over what she has done.</p>
<p>“This is exactly where you should be,” Dorian retorts and he grips her shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. “This is your <em>home</em>. I didn’t truly understand what you’ve been through and I’m sorry. We’ve all made mistakes, but we’re going to get through it together, ok?” Lani nods, slumping against him with exhaustion.</p>
<p>“I’ll take her upstairs,” Cole volunteers, bending down to place his hands on Lani. In the blink of an eye, the two of them disappear, before Dorian can even muster a protest.</p>
<p>“Kaffas, we’d better get up there. I know Cole just saved us all but…” he trails off, uneasy at the thought of Cole alone with the Inquisitor.</p>
<p>“Sure, but first, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here,” Varric grumbles. “That someone needs to get their silk covered ass booted back to Orlais?”</p>
<p>Dorian follows Varric’s steely glare, to where Vivienne is slumped against the wall - exhausted from battling demons. Dorian scowls, anger taking place of the terror that has gripped him during the whole ordeal.</p>
<p>“Agreed.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS</p>
<p>Lanaste - mercy<br/>Leanathe - your worship/grace/glorious being</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Forged Anew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lani fears what will become of her, in the aftermath of her outburst.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Muffled voices drift on the air and Lani follows them; stalking down the corridor toward the War Room. She can already guess the thrust of their conversation, long before she slinks in through the small wicket gate. Her companions are staggered about the room, much as they were when she first returned from the Fade.</p><p>Cassandra looms over the War Table - tall and imposing - her cheekbones almost as sharp as the bloody blade she clenches in her hand.</p><p>
  <em>Drip, drip, drip.</em>
</p><p>Scarlet liquid slides down the sword, splashing onto an ever growing puddle on the floor.</p><p>“We have no choice, it’s us or her,” she declares and a murmur of consensus emerges from Lani’s assembled friends.</p><p>“Why is it even open for debate?" Dorian saunters through the puddle with lofty indifference, tracking bloody footprints behind him as he drifts about the room. “The life of an <em>elf</em> is not worth such consideration.”</p><p>“Whatever,” Varric grumbles, not even deigning to look up from the stack of papers in front of him. “Let’s just get it over with, so I can get back to my real family.”</p><p>Lani crosses her arms, “Don’t you ever grow weary of being so predictable?” The poor imitations of her friends disperse into a cloud of inky Fearlings. Lani grimaces in revulsion, as the sinister minions flee into the Fade, and a disembodied cackle echoes around her.</p><p>“They are your fears, Inquisitor. It has been so long since I tasted them.” Nightmare’s voice crawls over her skin in a repulsive caress. “Imagine my surprise when I felt them, shining once again, like a beacon through the Fade. Exquisite as ever. Ordinary people have such ordinary fears. But you…”</p><p>Darkness gathers; oozing from cracks in the walls and slithering from shadows cast across the floor. The aspect of Nightmare manifests before her, coils of cold fear rolling off its nebulous bulk. Lani braces herself, preparing to fight the demon. Its edges sharpen, solidifying into familiar arms and long legs. Lani cannot help the tremulous beating of her heart; the surge of adrenaline, fear and desire, that courses through her at the sight of even a false Solas.</p><p>Nightmare smirks at her reaction, “Oh… not even Stroud delivers me such treasure and a Grey Warden’s fears are far from ordinary too.”</p><p>“Stroud is alive?” Lani gasps in horror. She has been guilt ridden by her decision to leave Stroud behind - but to know that he yet lived and was being tormented by this repellant creature is too much to bear.</p><p>Nightmare inhales deeply, as though her fear permeates the very air, and twists Solas’ perfect mouth into a cruel grin. “<em>Vhenan</em>…” he mocks, “I am not the wasteful kind. Would you like to see what has become of him?”</p><p>Lani’s lip curls in a sneer, “I should have found a way to destroy you when I had the chance.”</p><p>Nightmare cackles gleefully. “But you didn’t, you ran away and left <em>poor</em> Stroud behind, with me,” he mewls, in a perverse show of feigned sorrow. He clasps his hands behind his back, cocking his head - an impeccable imitation of Solas, “Perhaps better not to show you, the sight would simply make you angry. Left to fester however, all those myriad possibilities, your own imagination tormenting you…” He circles around her, pressing close and laughing low under his breath; almost giddy in her presence. “Yes…” he hisses, “I’ve missed you.”</p><p>Magic flares to life on Lani’s fingertips and she turns to face the demon. He puts space between them, but eyes her aggressive stance with amused indifference. Seeing this expression on Solas’ face, it wakes an irrational fury in her - every muscle tensing with tightly contained rage.</p><p>Nightmare grimaces, features twisting with disgust and his tongue thrusts from his mouth, as though he has tasted something offensive. “Tsk, too much rage. No-no-no, I will leave you now. Dream again of your Dread Wolf for me, of how he never loved you.” Nightmare reaches out, as though to caress her cheek.</p><p>“You don’t know that,” Lani insists. Though she doesn’t expect she can do any real harm, she slaps his hand away with her scorching touch. To her surprise he rears back with an angry, pained hiss.</p><p>Nightmare draws himself up, growing large and looming over her. Lani smirks, pleased she could enrage Nightmare in return. “He stood beside you in the Fade and I knew him in an instant. I could see what you did not! Not even the great Fen’Harel can hide from me - his fears writ large. Do you want to know what they were?”</p><p>“No.” Even if she did, she would never ask this demon for anything.</p><p>“Liar,” Nightmare drawls. “He feared you would uncover the truth about him and realise that he was stringing you along. He had to break it off, he could not bear it anymore. The repulsion he felt, every time you touched him.” Nightmare screws up his nose in disgust, cutting Lani to the quick. Even though she knows the demon is playing her, it still hurts so much. “He didn’t fear <em>you</em> however. Small and insignificant elf, not a true and proud Elvhen.”</p><p>Lani scoffs, “You’re the liar and a terrible one. You think I can’t recognise my <em>own</em> fears? I saw the tombstones, I know what Solas’ greatest fear is.” The thought fills her with such sorrow and Nightmare gasps.</p><p>“Yes…” the demon purrs. “He will die alone, because he left you behind. You can’t help him now.”</p><p>“Shut up,” she snaps, annoyed that she gave Nightmare an opening. Lani flees from the War Room, but the demon shadows her with ease.</p><p>“He is all alone without you Inquisitor and there is nothing you can do about it.” Lani tries to shut out his words, delivered in Solas’ own smooth voice. They are too cruel, too precise - piercing directly into her heart. “He will <em>always</em> push you away, because he believes he deserves to suffer - to die for what he has done, what he will do.” Lani staggers to a halt, her resolve crumbling. Nightmare hisses in her ear, his arms curling around her like grasping tendrils, “You cannot save him from himself.”</p><p>“I think we’ve had quite enough of that,” a wizened voice announces and Lani’s head snaps up to find Flemeth standing before her. Nightmare shrinks away from her with an angry shriek. “Begone little Nightmare,” Flemeth flicks her fingers at the demon, “before you bite off more than you can chew.”</p><p>Nightmare is gone in a flash and Lani shudders with relief, as the suffocating pall of fear dissipates. Then Flemeth locks her unwavering, sulphurous gaze directly upon her and Lani’s pulse quickens once again. She has wits enough to recall their last meeting however, and she hastens to deliver a polite bow.</p><p>“A pleasure to see you again,” she remarks, with as much sincerity as she can muster.</p><p>“Always such a polite child,” Flemeth notes, studying her with great amusement. An uneasy silence stretches between them and Lani’s chest heaves as she returns Flemeth’s stare. The longer she looks at her, the more she feels she is being drawn toward a great, yawning void. Within that endless pit, something dark and alien thrashes. Lani blinks, dropping her gaze to the floor; terrified that she will go mad if she peers any longer beneath the fleshy mask that is Flemeth.</p><p>“T-to what do I owe this pleasure?” Lani stammers, more unsettled by Flemeth’s presence than Nightmare’s. At least a fear demon was predictable, its motives - its <em>nature</em> - comprehensible.</p><p>“I believe we may be in a position to help one another.” Surprised, Lani dares a glance at the crone. Flemeth’s mouth curves into a wry, predatory grin and Lani’s heart flutters in her chest like a fledgling bird. Whatever Flemeth wants with her, it can’t be good, but how can she dare to defy a goddess - or a part of a goddess? Lani swallows nervously, it was still unclear just how much of Mythal resided within Flemeth. She was not interested in being the fool that discovers the enormity of her power by provoking her - much as Morrigan had.</p><p>“I’m not in a position to help anyone at the moment,” Lani states and then looks up sharply - working hard to school her features. Perhaps Flemeth is perfectly aware of what Lani is suffering and is swooping in to take advantage of her desperation. What does she possess that could be of interest to Flemeth?</p><p>Instinctively she curls her left hand into a fist. Corypheus had wanted the Anchor - even more than the Orb. He was obsessed with it and Lani wonders what else the mark is capable of. What other secrets does it hold, that one as ancient and powerful as Flemeth might know?</p><p>“I’m not sure what use I could be to you,” Lani hedges, weighing up potential means of escape. She has not yet managed to awaken herself on command, but she feels fairly confident of her ability to flee deeper into the Fade. Her confidence wilts though, as the unfathomable vastness of Mythal flashes through her mind - what hope is there, of escape from such a creature?</p><p>“In less pressing circumstances, your modesty might be charming Herald.” The amusement fades from Flemeth’s gaze. "You are the only one that can help me now. For you see, Fen’Harel has caught my scent.”</p><p>“Do not-” Lani catches herself, swiftly moderating her tone to something more obeisant, “I beg you, do not invoke him in my dreams.”</p><p>The smirk returns to Flemeth’s face, “Then this is a conversation better had <em>awake</em>.”</p><p>Lani’s eyes snap open and she sits up in her bed to see Flemeth looming nearby. A panicked glance around her quarters finds Dorian and Varric slumped on the settee and Cassandra laid out on the floor.</p><p>“I did them no harm,” Flemeth assures her, following her gaze. “They sleep soundly so that we may talk.”</p><p>A petulant spark flares to life inside Lani, “Perhaps I do not care if you harm them. They tried to kill me.” She knows it is not what she feels - not truly - but it is just so <em>tempting, </em>to give herself over to bitterness and rage.</p><p>“Out of kindness, child,” Flemeth reproves her and Lani’s cheeks burn with shame. The crone continues more gently, “I understand the sense of betrayal however. It was my own children that orchestrated my demise after all.”</p><p>“Your…?” Lani gasps, horrified by this revelation. “The <em>Creators</em> murdered you? Why would they do such a thing?”</p><p>“Long have I pondered their motivations. It would be simple to say they hungered for power and I was merely an obstacle. But the truth is often far more complicated, is it not?” Flemeth sidles closer and eases herself onto the bed. Lani’s eyes darts everywhere but at Flemeth, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. “With so much history between us, our relations could not be anything other than complicated.” The old witch gazes wistfully into the dark, her thoughts turning to memories of times long forgotten. “Or perhaps it <em>is</em> that simple - and they resented the fact that I favoured others over my own offspring.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine why you would,” Lani remarks wryly, “they sound so lovely.” Flemeth chuckles and Lani feels emboldened, “Why do you think Solas is after you?”</p><p>Flemeth cocks her head in surprise, “Told you did he?”</p><p>Her casual confirmation triggers a roiling of emotion within Lani. She has been in denial, from the moment she awoke and fled from the Fade - from Fen'Harel. Even with Nightmare she could not be certain he was not just playing up her own fears. Flemeth’s words drive into her; a physical blow that knocks the wind from her lungs. It hurts so deeply to know beyond a doubt that Solas lied to her. That he had <em>used</em> her.</p><p>“He did not,” she says bitterly. <em>Not when it mattered. </em>When she was Lani and not Maera. She hunches forward, pain throbbing in her heart. How does she reconcile herself to the truth? Fen’Harel had been so sweet, so tender with her - no, with Maera. Was it truly all a lie? It is far easier to believe that Solas harboured nefarious intentions. When he could be so cold at times; so guarded.</p><p><em>One and the same. One and the same! </em>she admonishes herself.</p><p>“Oh, ho ho… Clever girl,” Flemeth croons.</p><p>Lani shakes her head, <em>No. I have been a fool twice over.</em></p><p>“Yes, I believe I am making the right decision,” Flemeth natters on, either ignorant or indifferent to Lani’s anguish. “Is it fate, I wonder? Here you are, in need of aid and I… seeking a boon. I could not quite decide what to do. When fate gifts you an easy path, sometimes one wonders if it is the right one. On the other hand, ofttimes the simplest solution is the best.”</p><p>“I thought you said it was complicated?” Lani quips, forgetting herself for a moment - or perhaps just not caring anymore. Some tortured, self-destructive part of herself wants to taunt the hungry dragon before her.</p><p>“It is about to become more-so,” Flemeth retorts ambiguously.</p><p>“You want something from me?” Lani determines, burying the Anchor beneath the blankets in her lap. As though that could shield her from Flemeth and her desires.</p><p>“I want to <em>gift</em> you something,” she corrects, her voice smooth and persuasive. "A sliver, a slip, a wisp. To help paste over the cracks.” Flemeth’s gaze is so intense, it feels like she can see straight into Lani, her eyes tracing the margins of those fractures. It makes her acutely aware of those pieces herself - drifting ever apart, the Fade rushing in. Swelling, pressing relentlessly - driving her unerringly to the point where she will be stretched too far and sundered utterly.</p><p>She closes her eyes, breath short and shallow, as she tries to shake off the nauseating feeling. Lani thought she had saved herself, but it was merely a halting measure. There is no salvation. No fixing what Cole has done and if anything, the Anchor is making it worse. Turning her into a conduit, not just to her stolen feelings and memories, but potentially to anything that lurked within the Fade. Vivienne had been more right than she knew - it was a miracle that Lani hadn’t yet turned into an abomination.</p><p>Mythal’s voice worms into her ears, urgent and seductive, “I was broken once, shattered not unlike yourself. I clawed my way through the aeons, pulling some semblance of myself back together. If I gave you a part of me, it would remember the <em>doing </em>of it. It would help you.”</p><p>“You don’t think I could do it myself, as you did?” Lani grinds out, her pride running hot, despite her fear and misery.</p><p>“I do not doubt your tenacity. But alas, your time ebbs quickly,” she adds with grim finality.</p><p>Lani licks her lips. Flemeth is talking about possession, the very thing that Morrigan had accused her of. It sounds so tempting, almost reasonable - but Lani cannot trust her own decisions, knowing how desperate and vulnerable she is.</p><p><em>I don’t want to die</em>, a pitiable little voice inside her cries. <em>Is it not death either way? </em>she reasons. Surely even a sliver of Flemeth could overwhelm her. Could push Lani aside, just as surely as the Fade was at this very moment.“I’m not sure…” she remarks aloud.</p><p>Flemeth scoffs, “Morrigan has made you wary of me.”</p><p>“‘No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost.’ These are the words of your own sentinel, guarding the Vir’Abelasan,” Lani is quick to retort. “Though yes, after seeing the control you now exert over Morrigan, I am wary. I think the timing of this offer is highly suspect.”</p><p>“You do?” Flemeth’s eyebrows peak with genuine surprise. “Was it not you that called out to me?”</p><p>“I did?” Lani rubs at her brow, attempting to sift through her murky memories. “I did,” she confirms, recalling the habitual prayer that had fallen from her lips, as she lay in Dorian’s arms - overwhelmed with shame and despair.</p><p>“Yes. And so… here I am,” Flemeth throws her arms wide with a flourish.</p><p>Lani narrows her eyes with great skepticism, “You’ve never come before. Not once, in all the years that I cried your name in entreaty.”</p><p>“I have never heard you, until now,” Flemeth informs her. “Imagine my surprise.” The crone cocks her head at Lani, peering at her as though she is a most curious, delightful specimen. "Providence it appears, seeks to answer both our prayers.”</p><p>Silence falls between them once again, as Lani considers her offer. Flemeth watches her with a patience forged by aeons - or simply confident of Lani’s inevitable capitulation.</p><p>“Will I be different?” Lani asks at length.</p><p>“Of course you will be <em>different,” </em>Flemeth scoffs<em>.</em> “A hurtful word from trusted friends can <em>change</em> you. Receiving the Anchor <em>changed</em> you. With every choice you make, you become different from who you were and who you might have been.”</p><p>Lani pushes a strained, exasperated breath from her throat, “Is it a rule - when you hit a thousand years or so - that your words must always be obfuscated?”</p><p>Flemeth cackles quietly, a mad gleam flashing through her golden eyes, “I pray you never learn.” Lani swallows nervously, unconsciously shuffling to put more space between them. “To answer your question then… Ultimately, not in any way you will notice,” she gently asserts.</p><p>Doubts twist Lani’s gut. She thinks back to a conversation she had with Solas. He had called her wise, for observing that she would likely not even notice, if she had in fact been changed by the Anchor. Cole had proven the depth of her wisdom - for neither she or any of her friends and noticed how he had changed her.</p><p>“That is <em>not</em> a reassuring answer,” she huffs.</p><p>“I cannot undo <em>everything</em> that has been done to you. But you will remain in control of yourself, if that is your concern,” Flemeth clarifies. “You Herald - as you were, as you are - only, with a little extra. Some of what was and what will be.”</p><p>Lani’s eyes trail over her friends, lingering on Cassandra. “Do I even <em>have</em> a choice?” she muses, her voice small and tight. What Flemeth offers is frightening. However, death at the hands of her friends - or even worse - becoming the agent of their destruction, that is an unbearable fate.</p><p>“More than most,” Flemeth replies, “Life or death. Madness or sanity.”</p><p>Lani is not entirely convinced of Flemeth’s sanity, or that it’s a good idea to take that sort of <em>derangement</em> into herself. “Why would you want to give this to me?”</p><p>“Because I believe it will be safe with you.”</p><p>Lani blinks in surprise, at such a seemingly earnest and straight-forward response. “Won’t Solas come looking for it? If he wants to harm you-”</p><p>“It is not that he <em>wants </em>to harm me,” Flemeth is quick to interject. “But I have power that he needs now, more than ever.” The old witch sighs ruefully, “I tried to teach him patience, but he is still so hasty.”</p><p>“Hasty?” Lani scoffs incredulously. This is not a descriptor Lani ever thought to apply to Solas -who considered at length every single decision he made, no matter how mundane.</p><p>“Oh yes, he has always been rash. I have bided my time far longer than he. Yet I will give this life to him, if that is what he thinks he needs.”</p><p>“You will let him take your life?” she cries, aghast. “Why would you do such a thing? Why would <em>he</em>?” She shakes her head, tears threatening at the edge of her vision. She hates the resignation in Flemeth’s voice and the idea that Solas could do something so monstrous. “If he is truly capable of such, why would he hesitate to tear a piece of you from me?”</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> not believe him the terrible beast of Dalish legend?” Flemeth fixes her with such a pitying look, it draws a choked sob from her throat. “Whatever could tame such a monster?”</p><p>Lani pulls her knees to her chest, trying to shut out Flemeth’s words. His final mural comes to mind - the great wolf looming over a slain dragon. The proof was right there in front of her and she was wilfully blind to it. She has been a fool long enough where Solas is concerned and she refuses to let hope rekindle inside her broken heart. “You are wrong - about me, about him.”</p><p>“Then <em>prove</em> me wrong,” Flemeth urges.</p><p>Lani wipes the errant tears from her cheeks and shrugs, “I’m not Morrigan.”</p><p>Flemeth cackles gleefully at her sardonic remark, “Indeed, you are far more temperate, even in your current state.”</p><p>Lani sighs, hugging her knees. The promise of what Flemeth is offering seems worth the risk - assuming the old crone is telling the truth and her intent is not to possess her. Lani would not have ever considered herself a promising candidate to host a goddess - but the Anchor gives her pause. She has not sensed that Flemeth was <em>lying</em> to her, but Lani has been unable to bring herself to look at her long enough to read the minute changes in her expressions.</p><p>“Would you help me rescue a friend, in exchange for keeping this <em>sliver</em> of you safe?” If she is going to risk herself, she might as well ask for better compensation.</p><p>Flemeth scowls at her, “It is not enough that I am offering to clean up the mess that has been made of you?”</p><p>Lani sets her jaw determinedly, “No, it isn’t.”</p><p>“And where is this <em>friend</em>?”</p><p>“In the Fade, held captive by the Nightmare demon.”</p><p>“Ahhh…” Understanding lights on Flemeth’s face. “You do not need my help to enter the Fade,” her gold eyes drift pointedly to Lani’s left hand. “Nightmare however…” She shifts closer on the bed, draws her clawed glove across her chest and extends it toward Lani. A tiny, blue spark flickers - gently cradled in Flemeth’s palm. “Accept this and you will know how to deal with Nightmare.”</p><p>Lani eyes the spark skeptically, “I have to take your word for it though?”</p><p>“Yes Herald,” she chuckles, “it is time to take a leap of faith.”</p><p>“This is it?” she asks, still hesitant. “No elaborate rituals, no blood sacrifices?” It seems too easy - too innocuous. That, more than anything Flemeth has said, makes Lani wary.</p><p>“No. Do not be fooled by appearances however, this is no simple task.” Even now, with a part of her soul exposed, Flemeth waits patiently.</p><p>Lani blows out a few nervous breaths and squeezes her eyes shut. She nods her head in agreement, her body tense with anticipation. Flemeth presses her hand to Lani’s chest and she feels a pinch, then grunts as ice pierces her; pushing through every inch of her being. There is a whispering in the back of her mind and a sense that her worldview has expanded once again. Just as swiftly, the chill fades and the whispers fall quiet. Lani blinks her eyes open to find Flemeth gazing at her tenderly.</p><p>“Not nearly as dramatic as the last time, I’m sure,” she chortles. “What a busy soul you have, Sulahnean.” Flemeth reaches up to gently stroke Lani’s hair.</p><p>Her brow furrows, perplexed by this sudden - almost maternal - change in Flemeth’s behaviour. She notes it is also the first time she has ever called her by her actual name. <em>Because a part of her resides in me now</em>, her eyes widen at the revelation, <em>only </em>now<em> am I worthy; a vessel for her precious soul.</em></p><p>“I must go, I do not want Solas to know I was here,” Flemeth makes to rise from the bed and Lani impulsively clutches at her.</p><p>“Don’t go, please!” She snatches her hands way from the witch, shocked by her desperate actions. Whatever she had felt about Flemeth’s demise before, it is powerfully eclipsed now. Sorrow twists painfully inside her, at the mere thought of Flemeth coming to harm. Even so, Lani’s anger flares, “You said I would not be changed!” she accuses hotly.</p><p>“I said you would not <em>notice</em>,” Flemeth remarks mildly.</p><p>“This is noticeable!” she growls, clutching her hands over her heart. “I can’t bear it,” she can barely form the words to express her heartache. “I can’t let him kill you.” Tears spill from her eyes once again and Flemeth pulls her close.</p><p>“Hush… It will all be well, I promise,” she murmurs quietly against the top of Lani’s head. “Solas will take what he needs-”</p><p>“No…” she whimpers and Flemeth pulls back, holding her face steady between her hands.</p><p>“These feelings…”Flemeth pauses, considering her words, “… they will pass and <em>ultimately</em>, you will feel as you did before.”</p><p>“You fucking Elvhen and your…” Lani grits her teeth, as she grasps Flemeth’s hands; torn between throwing them off and pulling her closer. “Your tangled words! Does it salve your conscience? Do you fool yourself into believing you are not a villain and a liar?”</p><p>Flemeth endures Lani’s scolding with a parental forbearance. “If you wish to be free of these feelings, you must let me go.”</p><p>Lani drops her hands and squares her shoulders - steeling herself against the compulsions of Flemeth’s soul fragment.</p><p>“Good girl,” Flemeth leans forward to place a kiss on Lani’s forehead, sorely testing her resolve. “Until we meet again.”</p><p>Lani fights to remain still, as Flemeth rises from her bed and crosses the room. Without a backward glance, she slips through the door onto the balcony. Momentarily, Lani hears the beating of her great wings, as Flemeth flies off to meet her fate.</p><p>She sits alone in her bed, nursing a familiar sense of abandonment. She shrugs it off, hoping that there are no further surprises in store. Mentally she kicks herself. Of course there was a catch. It could never be so simple. She has to assume that there was <em>some</em> truth to what Flemeth claimed - that she would be in control of herself again. Lani doesn’t know how to test the truth of it, she <em>feels</em> no different than she did yesterday. She can’t imagine however, that Flemeth would give a part of her soul for safe-keeping, if she thought Lani remained in danger of becoming an abomination.</p><p><em>Will I feel it?</em> she wonders with awful trepidation. Will she know the moment that Solas kills Flemeth? She rests her head on her knees. <em>Don’t dwell on it,</em> she remonstrates herself, <em>these are not your feelings</em>. Focus instead on the work that remains.</p><p><em>Stroud</em>, she scowls. What would be required? Getting to the Fade was not a problem. Finding Nightmare however, perhaps their best bet was to return to Adamant. As for defeating the demon, Flemeth had said she would have what she needed, but Lani has no great insight; no sudden revelation as to what she should do.</p><p>She cannot leave Stroud however, knowing that he is alive. Nightmare could have been lying of course; simply attempting to torment her. She could be walking directly into a trap. But if there was a chance that the Warden still lived, that they had left him behind to suffer endless torments at the hands of that revolting demon. Lani cannot stand by and allow it.</p><p><em>Dagna might get her chance to enter the Fade after all</em>, she chortles. Yes, she was resolved, they would do it. If she can convince everyone that it needs to be done. That she is <em>capable</em> of doing it. She looks over to where her friends still lay in peaceful slumber.</p><p>“Oh, Fenhedis!” she curses, flopping back on her bed. She cringes, thinking of the conversation that awaits with her friends. Of having to admitthat she agreed to take a part of Flemeth’s soul. It seems so reckless and ill-advised in hindsight. “How am I ever going to explain this to everyone?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lani: So... I guess we are going back to Adamant now.<br/>Kitty: <i>*Checks notes*</i>. This was not in the outline.<br/>Lani: I dunno what to tell you babe. Road trip whooooo! Hang onto your moustache Stroud, we're coming!<br/>Kitty:<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Your Eyes Close</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lani fronts up to the Inquisition Council, attempting to convince them that she is herself again and that they need to rescue Stroud from the Fade.</p><p>Mildly NSFW content.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies for the late update - It was supposed to be a Solas chapter this weekend. You can thank FrostyFelassan for encouraging me to indulge my baser instincts and write smut instead. It didn't even end up being a great deal of smut - but there is definitely potential for an alternate version of this chapter in future 👀</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You are saying that Cole undid…” Cassandra waves her hand, searching for a word to encompass everything that has happened. “That he <em>fixed</em> you?” She scowls, but Lani knows she is not angry with her. If anything, there is a great deal of relief and hope in Cassandra’s steely eyes. </p><p>Lani studies the faces of her Council and they all reflect a relief similar to Cassandra - an eager desire for her words to be true. It is only Leliana that eyes her with a muted skepticism.</p><p>“Cole returned to the Fade, you said?” Leliana queries of Cassandra, though her gaze does not leave Lani.</p><p>“Yes, or he said that he would, but then…” Cassandra rubs the back of her neck, “it would appear I - <em>we</em> - fell asleep.” She looks questioningly to Lani.</p><p>“You were all exhausted and he wanted to speak to me alone,” Lani supplies. She is grateful she can keep her tone so even; how casually she is able to twist her lies to sound like heartfelt concern. She had intended to tell them the truth. She was sick to death of secrets and lies, and had called her Council in good faith, intent on telling them exactly what had transpired.</p><p>When the time came however, the words would not come. A terrible fear had gripped her - not for herself, but for Mythal’s soul. The All-Mother had entrusted it to her and the more people that knew about it, the greater the peril. No, she had to keep it safe - she had to keep it secret.</p><p>“I know that only time will bear out the truth of it,” Lani says, imploring them to trust her again. “I can make no promises and I understand it will take time to regain your trust. After what I have done, I would understand if you could never forgive me.”</p><p>“Inquisitor please!” Josephine objects. “It is clear to all of us that you were not yourself. You are a victim here, more than anyone else.”</p><p>“Yes, I am relieved that disaster was averted. We never lost faith in you Inquisitor,” Cullen tells her with earnest fervour, “If anything it has been renewed.”</p><p>Lani nods graciously, fighting back tears of shame. Their words cut her deeply, she does not deserve such unwavering trust.</p><p>“As you say,” Leliana quietly observes, “it will take time.”</p><p>“This other matter then. You’re certain that Stroud is alive?” Cullen moves them on and she thinks she <em>could</em> almost kiss him right now, for saving her from Leliana’s relentless scrutiny.</p><p>“I’m not certain at all. But if there is even a chance, we can’t leave him there,” she implores.</p><p>“How exactly will you find him?” Leliana asks.</p><p>“I’m not sure,” she confesses.</p><p>“And how will you defeat the Nightmare?” Cassandra is quick to follow up.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Lani laughs - a wry, helpless warble. She knows how rash and ridiculous it seems. “I know how it sounds, but this is the <em>right</em> thing and I have to do it. I won’t ask anyone to risk their lives for this, I will go alone if I have to.”</p><p>“Absolutely not!” Cullen insists. “For all we know this is a trap. That demon was attempting to cross the Veil at Adamant, you are the only one now that can free it.”</p><p>“I know that,” Lani replies with a hint of exasperation. Do they think she has not already thought of all of this? She breathes out slowly, resting her hands on the map table as she chews the side of her mouth, lost in thought. They are right to question her - she has come to them with a reckless proposition and no sensible plan of action. Her shoulders slump in weary resignation. “I would prefer if we acted on this quickly. If Stroud truly lives, then in every moment he is suffering. He is being tortured.”</p><p>Leliana and Cullen both open their mouths to speak and Lani holds up her hand, firmly interjecting. “But… I understand you have concerns, so I would ask that we please make this a priority. I <em>will</em> do this, but I will not be reckless and hasty.”</p><p>She easily catches the looks that pass between the Council; their palpable relief; the way the tension melts from their stiff postures at her words. They are so eager for her to be herself - desperate almost, to be able to rely once again upon their Herald. Winning them over is easier than she had anticipated. It is disheartening in a way. Have they learned nothing?</p><p>As much as it is a relief that they do not scrutinise her story more - their blind faith is irksome. This eager complacence is what allowed Cole to change her with impunity. Allowed Fen'Harel to walk amongst them with little scrutiny. Yet another truth she has decided to omit, for to confess his identity - to <em>convince</em> them - would require giving them her indisputable source: Mythal.</p><p>She will not make the same mistakes. She will not fail to question and scrutinise again. She <em>will</em> uncover the real reason Solas joined the Inquisition - starting with the Orb.</p><p>“Does that seem reasonable, Inquisitor?”</p><p>“Sorry?” She blinks up at Josephine. “Forgive me, I was thinking about how to find Stroud.”</p><p>“Yes… as we were discussing. You said you believe returning to Adamant was the best course. That is a long journey, which we must begin preparations for immediately, if you wish this to be done soon. In the meantime we thought perhaps, we could task our researchers with finding a way to perhaps bind Nightmare?”</p><p>Lani gasps, “Would such a thing even be possible?”</p><p>“You are the mage here,” Josephine shrugs, “but it is a demon in essence is it not?”</p><p>“Yes, it is…” Lani does not know why she doubts this course of action. Perhaps because Nightmare just seems so immense and frightening. It was hard to imagine such a thing could be contained. “As for Stroud, it’s possible I could try and contact him in my dreams. If he lives that is.”</p><p>“Would that truly be confirmation, or simply wishful thinking?” Leliana posits.</p><p>“I believe I would be able to tell the difference,” Lani assures her.</p><p>“Is it safe for you to do so?” Cassandra asks, “If Nightmare senses you-”</p><p>“It will give me a terrifying dream and nothing more. It cannot cause me real harm in dreams. Only when I physically enter the Fade am I vulnerable to its attacks.”</p><p>“Then it would seem we have our work cut out for us,” Cullen remarks with finality and relief floods through Lani. So long as Cole has truly returned to the Fade and does not pop up at an inopportune moment to unravel her lies.</p><p>“I will speak with the mages,” Lani volunteers, "task them with looking into our demon problem. It means we might have to take some along and soldiers to keep them safe when I enter the Fade.”</p><p>Josephine nods, scribbling with her pen, “Indeed, I will begin arranging supplies and an escort for the mages if need be.”</p><p>“And whatever equipment Dagna might need to take with her.”</p><p>“Dagna?” Cassandra protests, “This is not a sight-seeing tour!”</p><p>“I know, but this could be the one and only chance for her to study the Fade in person. She’d never forgive me if I made her stay behind, though I doubt we could stop her from coming along,” Lani shrugs.</p><p>“We seem to be forgetting one key part of this plan,” Leliana remarks and all eyes turn to her. “You closed all the rifts at Adamant. How will you enter the Fade <em>and</em> return again?”</p><p>“I have opened new rifts at least three times now.” Lani winces, realising the last time was in the Great Hall, when she unleashed demons upon Skyhold. Cassandra and Cullen both shuffle awkwardly with the sudden reminder.</p><p>“Yes and one of those times you were completely incapacitated afterwards,” Leliana tersely reminds them. “If that were to occur at Adamant, what chance do you have against Nightmare?”</p><p>“That won’t happen,” Lani assures her.<em> I won’t be opening a Rift across time. </em>Her mind whirls with the possibilities however. Is it not possible that she could open a Rift directly to Adamant? If she could save them a months long journey it was worth attempting surely. Would she be weak afterwards? What were the limits of her stamina?</p><p>“How do you know?” Leliana’s sharp voice cuts into her quiet introspection.</p><p>“I cannot explain the Anchor or its workings, it is beyond me. But I have begun to understand <em>my</em> limits and I know I can do this. I just need you to-”</p><p>“Trust you?” Leliana hisses. “When you have lied to us from the moment you opened your mouth today. Here in this room, where we were always honest with one another, even if the truth was painful - because the stakes were too great for us to keep secrets!”</p><p>“No secrets?” Lani scoffs. “How long before the rest of us did you know that Blackwall was Thom Rainier?”</p><p>“What?” Josephine gasps, her pain evident as she turns to Leliana.</p><p>“That is not pertinent-”</p><p>“How <em>long!</em>” Lani exhorts.</p><p>“I knew within months of his recruitment,” Leliana grudgingly admits.</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Cullen mutters, crossing his arms.</p><p>“He seemed to be in earnest, in wanting to atone for his past. It was clear to me that he had not <em>murdered</em> Warden Blackwall at least,” Leliana explains, though her words fall on deaf ears. “If his true identity had been revealed, we would not have been able to make use of the Warden Treaties.”</p><p>“You could have told <em>us</em>!” Josephine upbraids her. “Without betraying his identity to the world… you could have told us.”</p><p>“I did what I thought was best,” Leliana stubbornly insists.</p><p>“You would have kept Lani’s disappearance a secret from us too, if you could have,” Cullen grinds out.</p><p>Lani quirks her eyebrow at Leliana - her distrust feels excessive, even given the circumstances. She wonders what exactly Leliana is keeping from them all. Does she know something about Solas perhaps? “Any other secrets you’d like to share, Spymaster?”</p><p>“With <em>you</em>?” Leliana sneers.</p><p>“Leliana!” Cassandra rebukes, appalled by the sudden hostility between them.</p><p><em>There is definitely something else at play here, </em>Lani muses.</p><p>“What did you and Abelas discuss?” Leliana demands to know. “What <em>really</em> happened with Cole? Why are the elves in Skyhold losing their wits every time they see you?"</p><p>“Abelas hoped I could help him find more ancient elves - and had to leave disappointed. I explained what occurred with Cole. As for the elves, I believe they can feel the Fade. As I said, I can’t explain the changes to the Anchor,” she holds forth her left hand, letting the Anchor pulse to life as she studies it. “Elves seem more sensitive to it, they can <em>see</em> the Fade around me, I presume. I believe in time they will come to realise that it is not a sign of divinity - any more than the Anchor was. Any further questions?”</p><p>Leliana’s mouth purses sourly - undoubtedly she has many questions yet, but she shakes her head, letting them slide for now. The others seem further assured by Lani's measured and seemingly honest response.</p><p>Lani nods with satisfaction, “Very well, I’m going to speak with Dorian and the others about confining Nightmare.” She turns on her heel, quitting the room and leaving her Council to seethe at Leliana.</p><p>It is not ideal and she will have to work twice as hard now to regain Leliana’s confidence, but better this than confessing the truth. She presses her palm against her chest - better than endangering Mythal.</p><p>She scurries through the Great Hall, relieved that it is mostly empty aside from the masons that are busy repairing the damage she inflicted. She wishes the damage to her reputation could be patched over as easily, though Josephine was already working hard on that front.</p><p><em>All the more reason I need Leliana back on side</em>, she growls in frustration, keeping her eyes low as she hurries through the Rotunda toward the stairs to the library. <em>Garast Cole!</em> These are all complications she does not need right now. There are still rifts to be closed; Venatori and Red Templars running loose through the country and whatever it is that Solas is up to.</p><p>Icy talons rake down her spine, her legs coming to a sudden halt. Had Solas been the one whispering to Corypheus from the Fade? Is that how he escaped his self-made prison - through the Breach? If that was the case, why remain afterwards then? Why help them to stop Corypheus? Did he actually feel remorse for the destruction he unleashed? Perhaps in his bid for freedom he had not anticipated all the rifts that would open, drawing spirits though and twisting them.</p><p>She hugs herself, shivering in the dark stairwell and urges her legs to carry her upward. She cannot make sense of it all, it didn’t feel like something Solas would do. Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf - that showed compassion to refugees and cared deeply about spirits. That was passionate about individual freedoms and mage rights. Who was just as quick with words of encouragement for his friends, as a pointed barb for his enemies. He had approached her with cautious curiosity in the Fade and seemed only to want to share his knowledge with someone that cared to hear it.</p><p>There had been hints she supposes - moments of intense rage - but would she have acted any differently, had someone murdered her friend, or threatened their liberty? He had confessed to Maera that he had done terrible things - he was burdened with immense guilt. Was her soft-spoken, studious artist truly capable of murdering Flemeth? Nothing she had seen hinted at him being the sort of person that would lock away the Creators and rob the elves of their protectors.</p><p>“<em>It was my own children that orchestrated my demise.</em>” Lani had been sceptical of Flemeth’s claim, but now she knew without a doubt - could <em>feel</em> it in her very soul - it was the truth. Had Solas been righteous then, had he punished the Creators for their sin? Yet now he was intent on doing the very same. She sighs in exasperation - perhaps there is no making sense of any of it. Not without more information and it was clear to her - the history passed down by her people was woefully inadequate.</p><p>“Are you alright Lani?” She looks up to see Dorian, watching her with great concern and she wills herself to relax.</p><p>“Leliana is giving me a hard time,” she tells him, smoothing the scowl from her face. “I’m not sure if she ever trusted me completely, but she definitely doesn’t now.”</p><p>“Don’t take it to heart,” he gently assures her, “it would be more worrisome if our spymaster <em>didn’t</em> have trust issues.”</p><p>Lani scoffs, “Mmmm, you might be right.”</p><p>“Of course I am,” he replies with his trademark smirk, “I thought you knew this by now. Dorian is <em>always</em> right.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” she drawls, his playful humour settling over her, comforting like a warm blanket. Her eyes begins to sting and she hides her face in her hand.</p><p>“Oh Birdie,” Dorian pulls her into a tight hug.</p><p>“I wasn’t going to stop. If not for Cole, I would have killed you,” she sobs, overwhelmed by an immense sense of grief - as though she had truly lost him forever.</p><p>“If not for Cole, we wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place, yes? Besides, I’m not that easily rid of I’m afraid. Just ask my long-suffering parents.”</p><p>Lani snorts a laugh in spite of her anguish. “How can you be so… <em>fine,</em> with everything?”</p><p>“Would you feel better if I shouted at you? Told you to stay away from me and never speak to me again?”</p><p>“Maybe? No? I don’t know!” She pulls from his embrace, knuckling the tears from her cheeks.</p><p>“Lani, you took on a chance on every one of us.” He puts his hand to his chest, eyes sparkling with mirth, “A black-hearted, yet unmistakably dashing Tevinter rogue. A dangerous Qunari spy. Blackwall!” He squeezes her shoulders, voice dropping to a soft, sincere murmur. “<em>Blackwall</em>. Need I say more? If anyone ever deserved a second chance, it’s you.”</p><p>His words nearly trigger another bout of weeping, so touched is she by his steadfast friendship. Lani takes a series of deep breaths and gives him a weak smile.</p><p>“There is more I could say… More that I <em>should</em> say,” Dorian confesses, his features contorted into a shameful grimace. Lani squeezes his arm in return. “Are you…truly better, do you think?”</p><p>“I hope so,” she admits. It is a relief to speak honestly.</p><p>“As do I.” His cheeky smirk reappears, "Now did you come here purely to wallow in self-pity?”</p><p>“Hmmph, no,” her mouth twists sourly. “We need to find a way to incapacitate Nightmare.”</p><p>“Ah, of course. Well it is a demon in essence, it may simply be a matter of power.”</p><p>“Even if we can’t bind it permanently, we just need to occupy it long enough to free Stroud.”</p><p>Dorian scowls, “You realise, if we summon it into a binding circle and it breaks free…”</p><p>Lani frowns, “We unleash it on the world.” That is not a risk worth taking. “What if we did the binding <em>in</em> the Fade?”</p><p>Dorian’s eyebrows rise and he rubs his chin thoughtfully, “Well, now we are speculating with things that have never before been done.”</p><p>“We could test it on a lesser demon, make observations on how the Fade interacts with a binding spell. Though I…” she gnaws at her lip.</p><p>“What is it?” he prompts in the sudden silence.</p><p>Lani shakes her head, “I don’t think it will work.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Lani’s memory is alight, sifting through all the battles she fought in the Fade. The <em>feel</em> of them. “Because spell-casting is not actually relevant in the Fade. It is shaped by our intent.”</p><p>“But we cast spells the last time we were there.”</p><p>Lani nods, they were <em>physically</em> in the Fade, as opposed to dreaming, but surely the Fade is the Fade regardless of their state of consciousness. Were demons not also physically in the Fade then, always? Or had that changed somehow. Had they <em>changed</em> the nature of the Fade by entering it?</p><p>Lani presses her fingers to her temple, she can feel a headache coming on. “How much of that was simply acting out our intentions in a way that was familiar to us? Who’s to say we couldn’t have simply <em>willed</em> a fireball into existence without all the casting? So to bind Nightmare, it becomes a battle of wills. Our desire to bind it, versus its desire to be free. Theoretically,” she shrugs.</p><p>“Don’t forget, our mages already have a great deal of experience with co-ordinated casting requiring a great deal of focus and power. They did close the Breach after all.”</p><p>“True. But as you say, we haven’t factored in how the Fade could change things. Add to the fact that, it might not just be Nightmare we have to contend with. Opening a rift draws attention - and a large group of mages will assuredly have demons clamouring for a chance to possess them.”</p><p><em>Maybe this is a terrible plan</em>, Lani thinks, self-doubt taking hold. Is it not irresponsible to endanger so many people on the hope of rescuing one man?</p><p>“Don’t be disheartened,” Dorian remarks, as though he could read her thoughts, “We’ve only just started work on the problem. When have we ever failed to find a solution?”</p><p>“You’re right. <em>Again,</em>” she grudgingly admits. Lani yawns suddenly and rubs her exhausted eyes.</p><p>“When was the last time you had a good nights sleep?” Dorian clucks at her like a mother hen.</p><p>Lani laughs bitterly, ”Not since the Fade.”</p><p>“I’ll take this problem to our researchers, you go and get some sleep.” He gently nudges her toward the stairs and Lani groans at the prospect of dreaming. “Problem?”</p><p>“One that I need to resolve sooner rather than later, I suppose,” she sighs wearily. “Thanks Dorian,” she murmurs and plods toward the stairs.</p><p>The more she thinks about not wanting to sleep, the heavier her eyelids seem to become. It is hard to believe - with so much mayhem and strife - that it has only been two days since she returned from the Fade.</p><p>Her sense of unease is compounded, as she passes a pair of elves in the Hall. Their hushed reverence puts her on edge, but at least in one respect she can take gratification. In how wrong Sera had been about her. Their obeisant cowering was no more appealing to her than that of the Andrastians, who had hailed her as the Herald of Andraste.</p><p>She attempts to set aside such worries - to clear her mind before sleep, but with every step she takes toward her quarters, she can feel her trepidation growing. Perhaps having a clear goal in mind - such as searching for Stroud - will help. She can only hope.</p><p><em>Stroud</em>, she thinks, as she kicks off her shoes. <em>Where is Warden Stroud?</em> It becomes a chant she murmurs under her breath, as she shucks off her clothes and settles into bed. Lani squeezes her eyes shut, tossing fitfully under the covers and so tense she begins to doubt she will ever manage to fall asleep. <em>Stroud, Stroud, Stroud…</em></p><p>She shivers, goosebumps prickling along her arm, provoked by a feather-light touch. Something tickles her cheek and she pushes her hair back in annoyance. A gust of warm breath caresses her ear and Lani squirms, as fingers trace down her other arm. Other hands join the first, caressing her limbs and hungrily kneading her flesh. A soft mouth trails kisses along her shoulder from behind.</p><p>Lani slowly peels her eyes open, her thoughts foggy and confused, as she takes them in. Pairs of eyes peer back at her with ardent intent - red eyes; yellow eyes; grey eyes. Their solid bodies press against her back and side as Solas crawls up her front, trailing kisses over her abdomen. Her pulse pounds in her ears, revelling in the feeling of being cradled and adored.</p><p>“What is…” She feebly attempts to form a coherent thought, her limbs weak with desire.</p><p>“Shhh, don’t think,” Flemeth purrs in her ear, claw-like fingers curving around her throat, “just give yourself over.”</p><p>“Ah!” she trembles and arches into Solas’ mouth, as it lands upon her breast; his tongue driving her to distraction. “No, this is-”</p><p>“Doesn’t it feel good?” Fen’Harel growls, his hand worming between her thighs. “Isn’t it everything you want?”</p><p>“Yes!” she mewls. His fingers probe her wet, eager sex and she rolls her hips into his touch, aching for more. Flemeth cups her breast, pinching her nipple and Lani cries out - an unbearable, insatiable <em>want</em> flooding her body. Solas’ lips close over hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. She whimpers against him, longing for them to possess her completely; to smother her body with theirs and fill her in every way imaginable.</p><p>“Yes vhenan… let us in,” Fen’Harel croons, tongue flicking over his fangs. Beneath the haze of her lust a different sensation is building; a primal instinct, ringing a silent clarion of warning.</p><p>She tears away from Solas with a gasp. “This is <em>wrong</em>,” she exclaims, trying to hold onto the fleeting clarity.</p><p>“Let the dream take you…” Solas urges and it is so hard to resist him; especially when he gazes at her with such tender longing. She takes his face between her hands - this beloved face that makes her heart ache, and her body burn with fury.</p><p>Lani shakes her head, trying to clear the fog that muddles her senses. Solas’ eyes turn from grey to blazing amethyst, as the illusion falls away to reveal a Desire demon. “Give in Sulahnean, give in.” He presses his erection against her and a fresh wave of heat pulses through her body. She takes hold of his horns, torn between pushing him away, and drawing him closer. “Let me fulfil your desires. What harm is there?”</p><p>His duplicitous words hit her like a cold shower. “No,” she states firmly, shoving him away. He snarls at her, as she scrambles to her feet. The demon pulls himself to his own impressive height, tail lashing angrily behind him.</p><p>“Think carefully before you reject me. Think of what I am offering,” his taloned hands glide sensuously over his own taut body and a heated blush blooms over Lani’s cheeks. “Your days and nights filled with pleasure. I would even allow you to maintain some semblance of control, I am not greedy.”</p><p>He almost sounds sincere and Lani scoffs, “Oh, how generous of you.”</p><p>“I am indeed. All I want is for you to be happy,” he croons seductively and she can feel the hooks of his desire attempting to worm their way into her mind once again. “I can feel your terrible yearning, how incomplete you feel without <em>them</em>. I can take that pain away - I can replace it with euphoria you’ve never even dreamed of. Let me give you satisfaction.” Though he stands at arms length, his words hit her ear in an intimate whisper, as though he were pressed up against her.</p><p>Lani steels her resolve, “It wouldn’t be real.”</p><p>“It will still feel good,” he purrs, circling her like a shark.</p><p>“It isn’t enough.”</p><p>He bares his teeth, face contorting with rage, “I would give you everything and it is not <em>enough</em>?” He seizes her by the throat and Lani chokes out a wry chuckle.</p><p>“You picked the wrong dream,” she rasps. Lani recalls her battle with Pride and a calm reassurance falls over her. What did she have to fear from this insignificant demon before her?</p><p>“You mortals are all alike,” Desire raves, claws digging into her flesh, “You think you have a choice! You were doomed the moment I…” his brow furrows in confusion and pain. “What is…what are you-argh!” Desire’s reptilian eyes go wide and he tries to snatch his hand away, but Lani has taken hold of his arm. The mottled skin along his limb blisters and bursts; the fingers at her throat turning grey and sloughing away in curling flakes of ash. “Release me!” he shrieks.</p><p>“I will release you,” Lani replies mildly. “Let me ease your terrible yearning. I will put an end to your pain and hunger,” she purrs mockingly, her hands snapping up to snag his shoulders. Desire thrashes in her grasp and Lani wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in tight against her. “Give in,” she urges, a savage grin lighting her face, “Just give in.”</p><p>Desire screams and convulses, smoke curling up from his perfect body, as it sizzles and cracks under the onslaught of her attack. He collapses and Lani lands atop him, relentless in her fury. With one last, ear-piercing shriek, Desire bursts into a cloud of embers and ash; his demonic essence curling free. For the briefest moment Lani eyes it, tempted to burn all traces of him to oblivion - but then she remembers that Desire was a spirit once and there was still a chance that something new and good might form from its remains. She watches his essence dissipate into the Fade, praying that she has made the right choice.</p><p>Feeling empowered, Lani gathers herself, honing her focus to a single point. <em>Stroud</em>.</p><p>To her surprise, a portal immediately opens. She had not expected it to be so easy and she steps through warily.She emerges on the battlements of Adamant, demons swarming all over the fortress; laying waste to the Inquisition forces and any Wardens that rebelled against Clarel’s orders. Corypheus’ blighted dragon roars overhead, spitting fire on friend and foe alike.</p><p>Lani races through the fortress, searching for Stroud. She finds him at last, at the rift where they confronted Clarel. Erimond towers over the grisly setting - not a single Warden mage has escaped, all of them completing the ritual and becoming abominations under Erimond’s command. Lani finds her own mangled corpse and those of her companions, strewn about the courtyard. Stroud kneels amongst them, his shoulders bowed in abject defeat.</p><p>“You and all your fellow Wardens now serve at the whim of Corypheus!” Erimond crows, victorious. “Blight will rage free and unchecked across Thedas! Only those who bow before his might will be spared! He will usher in a new era - the Imperium will rise again, greater than ever!”</p><p>Lani kneels before Stroud, grasping his shoulders, “Stroud, it’s not real.”</p><p>“Inquisitor…” he blinks at her in surprise and then looks to her body in confusion, “but you died, I…”</p><p>“It’s a dream Stroud, a nightmare. Don’t you remember? You stayed behind in the Fade, so we could escape.”</p><p>A brief flicker of clarity passes over his vision, but then the dream takes him again. “No, I failed. <em>We</em> failed.”</p><p>“We didn’t fail, this isn’t how it happened,” she tries again to reach him, but it is clear that Nightmare’s grip on him is too great. She prays this is the worst of it; what other horrors does Nightmare force him to witness? She has no doubt though, he is alive and she cannot allow him to continue to suffer in this way.</p><p>Stroud shakes his head in despair, “The Wardens are lost.”</p><p>Lani pats his back, as the Warden curls up in anguish. “Just hang in there a little longer Stroud, we’re coming for you. I promise.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS<br/>Garast - Fucking</p><p> </p><p>A/N: So I take a lot of my chapter titles from poems and songs (and the Chant of Light) and I was just wondering if anyone was interested in actually knowing which/having links/quoting them in the notes? 🤷♀️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. A Dreamer, A Wisher, A Liar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Driven by regret and blinded by hubris, Solas absorbs Mythal’s powers - committing the same unforgivable sin for which he condemned the Evanuris.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This seems like a rather appropriate chapter - in which Solas mourns the loss of loved ones that were significant to him and shaped his life - to include a poem by Oscar Wilde (about his sister), from which I took the title of this series.</p><p><b>Requiescat</b> </p><p>Tread lightly, she is near<br/>Under the snow,<br/>Speak gently, she can hear<br/>The daisies grow.</p><p>All her bright golden hair<br/>Tarnished with rust,<br/>She that was young and fair<br/>Fallen to dust.</p><p>Lily-like, white as snow,<br/>She hardly knew<br/>She was a woman, so<br/>Sweetly she grew.</p><p>Coffin-board, heavy stone,<br/>Lie on her breast,<br/>I vex my heart alone<br/>She is at rest.</p><p>Peace, Peace, she cannot hear<br/>Lyre or sonnet,<br/>All my life’s buried here,<br/>Heap earth upon it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With gentle reverence, Solas lays the husk that was Mythal on top of the mountain. Her stolen power pulses through him and with a mere thought, rocks gather, forming a cairn over her body. When his knees slap hard upon the ground, he welcomes the pain; hunching forward to place his hand upon the mound. He is beginning to feel that he is trapped in an inexorable cycle; destined time and again to lose those he cherishes the most.</p><p>Perhaps Mythal knew this was inevitable and that is why she kept her distance all these years - to make it easier for him. She had always been able to see so clearly; judging outcomes and consequences that eluded him. What he wouldn’t give, to have her guidance and wisdom going forward, but he has to assume - given how readily she surrendered to him - that he is on the right path. He imagines Mythal has taken steps too, to ensure her continued existence. He wants to believe that - <em>needs</em> to believe it - though a part of himself whispers that it is just wishful thinking to salve his own conscience.</p><p>“Forgive me,” he pleads, though in his heart he knows - he is beyond redemption now. <em>Perhaps I always was</em>. Whatever glimmer of hope he dared to entertain is lost - like soft auburn hair, that will never again gleam in the sunshine. No brilliant smile to lift his spirits; or gentle touch to soothe his melancholy.</p><p>“Sulahnean…<em>” </em>His shoulders quake, silent tears splashing across the stones. <em>This monster was never worthy of you. </em>Perhaps he should have given himself over to Mythal instead.</p><p><em>“Be Fen’Harel,”</em> she had urged him, however. To unreservedly be the villain the people needed; the destroyer that would re-shape the world. He kneels in desolate misery, until the sun sinks low, and long, creeping shadows stretch across the ground.</p><p>Gathering himself in the darkness, he returns at last to the Eluvian and trudges along the twisting pathways. He makes his way back to Isenathaman, a shadow of the man he once was; resigned to his lonesome fate.</p><p>Eolas is absent from his study and Solas feels an abiding solitude. <em>It is no less than I deserve, </em>he muses, as he wanders the bare, silent hallways. How many more bright spirits - good souls, more worthy than he - will be snuffed by the time his task is done?</p><p>To his surprise, voices reach him as he approaches the Gallery. Eolas and his guest turn at the sound of Solas’ footfalls and when his eyes light upon Abelas, Solas smooths his face into a passive mask; burying the panic that wells inside him at the sight of Mythal’s Sentinel.</p><p>“I believe you’ve met,” Eolas calmly states and Abelas steps forward, dropping to one knee.</p><p>“Forgive me, Fen’Ha’el, we Sentinels remember your name. If you had only made yourself known to me, I would not have dared to bar you from the Vir’Abelasan. If anyone was worthy of possessing it-”</p><p>“Think nothing of it,” Solas interjects, calming enough to find his voice. “The cost was too high for me.” He waves the Sentinel up and remarks, “It would have been better for you to possess it.”</p><p>Abelas rises slowly to his feet, “Such a treasure was never meant for me. My duty was only ever to keep it safe.”</p><p>“And now it is held by an arrogant, grasping human,” Solas is quick to point out and Abelas grimaces at such censure.</p><p>“True…” His shoulders slump, heavy with remorse.</p><p>Regretting his sharpness, Solas warmly adds, “I am glad you have found us however.”</p><p>Abelas nods solemnly, “You mentioned there were others?”</p><p>“A few of us wander, though most of my followers remain in Uthenera, until we can make the world safe for them. Are your people well?”</p><p>“For now. There seems little point however, remaining in Enansal'han, now that the Vir’Abelasan is gone and our home destroyed. Shems circle already; carrion crows, desperate to pick over what remains,” Abelas scowls. “My scouts report however, that Shemlen swarm everywhere they go. I do not know what corner of this world remains free of their kind. I was hoping you might provide safe harbour?”</p><p>“Of course,” Solas replies, casting a querying glance at Eolas.</p><p>“We have reclaimed a few sanctuaries, where they will be free and safe,” Eolas informs Abelas, understanding immediately that Solas is loathe to have Mythal’s Sentinels roaming Isenathaman.</p><p>“You have always been a true friend of the people,” Abelas bows politely and Solas cringes inwardly. “If it is not too much to ask, I was wondering if you would help me locate Mythal.”</p><p>“Mythal?” Solas feigns surprise. There is the barest pinch between Eolas’ brows and Solas holds his gaze steady, as he addresses Abelas, “Mythal is long dead.”</p><p>“That is what we believed too, but the Inquisitor claims she met a sorceress-”</p><p>“The Inquisitor?” Solas cuts him off sharply, a traitorous quaver in his voice. He takes an urgent step toward Abelas, “When did you see her?”</p><p>“No more than a week ago,” Abelas looks from him to Eolas, sensing their surprise and alarm. Solas’ heart hammers back to life and he glances at Eolas; desperate for confirmation, but afraid to let hope take root.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Eolas hastens from the Gallery, to verify Abelas’ report and discover why their intelligence is suddenly so remiss. Solas paces away from Abelas, unable to hide the relief that sweeps across his face. A restlessness wells in his depths; sparked by an interminable longing. As though a taut thread has woven between his bones, pulling upon him; urging him toward Skyhold. He longs to see her with his own eyes; to hold her and be comforted by the certainty of her solid form beneath his hands.</p><p>“I was surprised when the Inquisitor told me you were not in communication,” Abelas continues, clearly perplexed. “Was she not your ally?”</p><p>“What did she…?” Solas purses his lips, leaving the question unasked. Better to not know what Sulahnean might have said about him. Not when the thought that she lives leaves him giddy - robbing him of sense and reason. He tries to calm the euphoria that surges through him; making his skin prickle with elation. Clearing his throat, he turns back to Abelas. “For a time she was useful, but she is not Elvhen. Her goals and interests do not align with ours.”</p><p>“I see.” Abelas hesitates, then asks, “Your goals being?”</p><p>“To restore magic to the world, so that our people may thrive once more. To bring a final end to the Evanuris, in retribution for the destruction of Elvhenan and the murder of Mythal.” Solas clenches his fist, as he makes this vow to Abelas.</p><p>“In that case I would offer you my aid, if you would have it. I too would see my people safe, and Mythal avenged.”</p><p>“I would gladly welcome it,” Solas replies, offering Abelas his hand. The Sentinel grasps his arm in friendship.</p><p>“The Inquisitor was mistaken then?” Abelas asks.</p><p>“Mistaken?” Solas queries absently, eyeing the corridor down which Eolas had disappeared; silently urging him to return with haste. His pulse is still thrumming; feet shuffling with anxious energy. He could always enter the Fade again, that would be the quickest way to confirm her condition. What had happened to her, where had she gone? Abelas is still talking at him however, and he glares impatiently at the Sentinel.</p><p>“About the human that claimed to be Mythal?” Abelas replies with a degree of exasperation. Solas takes a calming breath, he needs to be patient and wait for Eolas.</p><p><em>There are more important matters</em>, he reminds himself. “This was her fortress,” Solas waves his hand toward the depiction of Mythal at the end of the gallery. “We her loyal followers, yet she does not return. It would bring all of us great comfort to know she was alive.”</p><p>“The Inquisitor believes she did not approach us, because she knew we would never accept her in a human form,” Abelas despairs. “Not that I believe Mythal is obliged to grace us with her presence,” he adds hastily. “It is only, with the state of the world, I thought she might deign to.”</p><p>“If we hear anything further about this… sorceress?” Solas raises a questioning eyebrow, feigning ignorance of Sulahnean’s encounter in the Fade with Mythal.</p><p>“Flemeth, is what the Inquisitor named her.”</p><p>“We will certainly investigate the matter, you have my word.” Abelas accepts his promise with a solemn nod. Solas quietly ponders the Sentinel, his mind churning over the opportunities his presence affords. “Do your people truly wish to leave Enansal’han?” he asks at length.</p><p>“I do not see that we have a choice. As I’ve said, the Shemlen seem to think they have the right to enter our temple. We’ve held them off so far without violence - but I fear it is only a matter of time.” Abelas shakes his head, “It was only through the Inquisitor’s grace that we avoided obliteration. Fighting that mad darkspawn and its minions was one thing, but I fear what would occur, if we were forced to defend ourselves and draw the ire of the human nations.</p><p>“I dedicated myself to the Vir’abelasan because I grew tired of endless bloodshed and conflict. The Temple offered me peace and purpose. I wanted to protect something that was <em>worth</em> my life. But my stubbornness, my indignation, nearly cost the lives of my fellow Sentinels. I know they all made the same vow as I, but the Inquisitor was right. The world has changed and we - <em>our lives</em> - have meaning, <em>we</em> are worth more. The old ways are not…” he breaks off with an exasperated grunt. “The Inquisitor made compelling arguments - with reason and passion - and I have been questioning my purpose ever since the events at the Vir’Abelasan. It is unsettling.” He twitches his shoulders, as though to throw off these troubling feelings.</p><p>Solas eyes Abelas with sympathy - he knows all too well this feeling of self-doubt. Perhaps he can provide him with new purpose. “The elves of this age,” Solas begins, “have no love for Fen’Harel.”</p><p>“So I have gathered,” Abelas remarks humourlessly.</p><p>“Would you be amenable, to being my ambassador?”</p><p>Abelas scoffs at the suggestion, “As you are aware, diplomacy is not my forte.”</p><p>Solas smiles. “What I mean to say is, the Dalish in particular, hunger to uncover their forgotten history. I tried to approach them in the past and they would not heed me. But you, a credible Elvhen - discovered by the Dalish Inquisitor and bearing Vallaslin, no less. These are things they would understand and accept."</p><p>Abelas scowls at the notion that Solas is somehow a <em>lesser </em>Elvhen. “If you say so,” he grumbles.</p><p>“If you were to invite them to your Temple, slowly teach them the truth of the Evanuris…”</p><p>“And win them to your cause,” Abelas concludes and Solas nods. “There is still the issue of human scholars and treasure hunters trespassing…”</p><p>“The Inquisitor has a lot of power and influence. If you asked her to declare Enansal’han a protected area - off-limits to those without permission-”</p><p>Abelas gasps, “You want her to claim those lands for the Elvhen?”</p><p>Solas holds up his hand to quiet Abelas’ alarm. “It would be impossible, even for her, to declare it a free elven state. Not without dangerous repercussions. It would simply be designated a site of historic importance. One that needs to be respected and cared for, under the auspices of the Inquisition. Potentially even dangerous and requiring careful oversight, given the presence of Red Templars and their blighted lyrium.”</p><p>“You believe she would do this… for me?” Abelas’ eyes narrow with skepticism.</p><p>“If you said you wanted to invite the Dalish and any other elves that seek to learn of Elvhenan… Perhaps even some token, Inquisition approved human scholars and historians. I am positive she would not deny you.”</p><p>“You seem confident of the influence she exerts, I am not so sure.”</p><p>Solas cocks his head in query, “What makes you say so?”</p><p>“I overheard the shems arguing about her. When I questioned him about her, that Commander of hers was overly anxious too.”</p><p>Solas snorts. Only in death would Cullen cease being anxious about Sulahnean. His curiosity is peaked however, “What did they argue about?”</p><p>“They said she was dangerous,” Abelas replies flatly.</p><p>“The Inquisitor <em>is</em> dangerous, as you know,” Solas’ mouth quirks wryly.</p><p>Abelas shakes his head, “To enemies, yes. Her companions seemed afraid of her however. Or afraid <em>for</em> her perhaps?” Either Abelas has misinterpreted what he overheard, or Sulahnean is drastically changed. Solas’ stomach knots anxiously, recalling what Cole had confessed to him.</p><p><em>No, </em>he firmly decides<em>, Sulahnean would never hurt her friends.</em> If she truly was Tranquil, she’d be even less inclined to do so.</p><p>“I do not know her well, but she did seem different. And she has… she was…” Abelas struggles to explain what he witnessed, “When I touched her…”</p><p>Solas stiffens, clasping his hands behind his back to resist taking hold of Abelas and shaking him ’til his bones snap. <em>How dare you touch her!</em> he wants to snarl.</p><p>“She said it was an effect of the Anchor, but I felt the <em>Fade. </em>As I have not felt it since before the fall; around me; inside me,” Abelas sighs deeply, his scowl melting into an expression of wistful longing. “It was <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>Solas shakes with rage. Abelas' words do little to mitigate his irrational jealousy. He can recall with perfect clarity how Sulahnean’s face would light up, when she spoke of their encounter at the Vir’Abelasan; effusive with joy at having met a <em>real </em>Elvhen. Solas grits his teeth. “You should return to Enansal’han now,” he instructs tersely.</p><p>“Should I not make my way back to Skyhold? Am I not to petition the Inquisitor?” Abelas blinks at him in surprise.</p><p>“There is much to be done at the Temple,” Solas strides in the direction of the Eluvian as he speaks, assuming Abelas will follow behind. “Firstly we must repair the Eluvian. And you must ensure that your people do not end up in open conflict with humans. No, you must return with haste before that happens.”</p><p>“I do not understand,” Abelas huffs, “surely if I am to make such an immense request of the Inquisitor, it ought to be delivered in person?”</p><p>“Leave it with me, I will…” he pulls up short. <em>He</em> cannot go. What was he thinking? He is tempted, however - not just for the excuse to see Sulahnean - but to also see if she would grant this to him, or turn him down flat. Does she despise him utterly, or does he still hold a special place in her heart?</p><p><em>None of this should matter, </em>he berates himself. It should not be influencing his decisions. Even so, he cannot bring himself to allow Abelas to return to Skyhold. The thought of him touching Sulahnean - the thought of anyone laying their hands on her - he grinds his teeth in jealous fury.</p><p>It is unfair and irrational, he knows. Does she not deserve to be happy, even if it is not with him? He sighs resignedly.</p><p>“I need someone I can trust and that your people will <em>heed</em>, at Enansal’han. Perhaps however, as a gesture of friendship, another of your Sentinels could make this request and remain at Skyhold, as a liaison?”</p><p>“There is wisdom in your request, but I am hard pressed to imagine who would be best suited to the task.” Abelas frowns, “My people are still reeling with culture shock, and their failure to defend the Vir’Abelasan. To isolate one further by sending them to Skyhold… Surely you can see that it <em>must</em> be I.”</p><p>“I will go.” Abelas starts slightly, as Sileahilan emerges from the shadows.</p><p>“Out of the question,” Solas snaps.</p><p>“Why is it?” she replies sedately. “You both have duties you cannot abandon. I have nothing to do at present, given that my <em>master</em> is dead.” Solas tenses at her allusion to Corypheus. Sileahilan meets his admonishing glare with quiet insolence - confident he will not pursue this argument in front of Abelas. “I hope you will not object, Elni,” she stretches her palms toward Abelas in reverence, “Allow me the honour of presenting your request to the Inquisitor.”</p><p>Abelas glances between them both, hesitantly responding, “I have no objections, of course.” He bows in deference to Solas, “If Fen’Ha’el wishes it so.”</p><p>Solas nods in acquiescence, his left eye twitching with irritation. This was the inherent difficulty of leading a band of rebels and upstarts - they were inclined to mutiny at the most inopportune times.</p><p>Victorious, she offers her hand to Abelas. “Sileahilan,” she introduces herself. Abelas cocks his head in surprise - clearly wondering if she is <em>the</em> Sileahilan.</p><p>“Abelas, my lady,” he takes her hand and she gives him a small smile - a knowing smile that says, <em>I am she. </em>Abelas’ eyes widen and he drops her hand, quickly giving her a low bow instead.</p><p>Solas does not often contemplate the mythos of Fen'Harel - not when it has become so twisted and full of fanciful nonsense. It occurs to him however, that from Abelas’ perspective, he has walked into a fortress full of legends. Despite his annoyance, Solas emits a quiet snort of amusement. He wishes Sulahnean were here to see this. She would be equally amused to discover that, as much as she was in awe at meeting the Sentinels, they too have heroes they revere - the chosen of Mythal.</p><p>A hollow ache blooms in his chest at the thought of Sulahnean's laughter. Does she even laugh anymore? He maintains a selfish hope that she still harbours feelings for him, but what if she felt nothing now? Abelas said she was changed. Just how much damage did Cole inflict? His joy that she lived was being rapidly smothered by fear for her emotional state.</p><p>“That is settled then,” he hastily interrupts Sileahilan and Abelas’ conversation, steering the Sentinel once more toward the Eluvian. “Eolas will send supplies and see to the repairs.” He manages to contain himself at the very end; holding off from physically thrusting Abelas through the shimmering mirror.</p><p>“Does he know the path back?” Sileahilan archly queries, once Abelas it out of sight.</p><p>Solas rounds on her. “You are <em>not</em> going to Skyhold,” he grumbles.</p><p>She quirks an eyebrow at him, “I thought it was settled?” She falls into step beside him, as they make their way to Eolas’ office. Eolas is slumped in his chair, mouth hanging open as he slumbers. Solas restlessly paces the room, awaiting his report. Sileahilan crosses her arms and leans against the wall, patiently awaiting the lecture she expects to be forthcoming.</p><p>“You are wasted on such a menial task,” he utters at length, frustrated at his inability to muster a better argument.</p><p>“I disagree,” she retorts and is interrupted by Eolas’ loud, rasping snore. His head rocks back as he breaks suddenly from the Fade, blinking his eyes open. Solas hastens to his desk, tense with anticipation.</p><p>“What are they saying at Skyhold? Why didn’t they report this?” he barks.</p><p>“They say she is…” Eolas rubs at his chin, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. “I’m not sure how to explain their agitated rambling. They speak of her as though she is divine - that she has an aura about her.” He shakes his head, a deep furrow on his brow. “All of them refused to say any more, no matter how I cajoled them. They said they fear her wrath.”</p><p>Solas frowns with worry, Abelas’ words ringing in his ears, <em>“Her companions seemed afraid of her.” </em>He paces away from Eolas, it makes no sense. <em>Unless.. no, no! </em>He cannot bear to think such things.</p><p>“The Inquisitor’s wrath?” Sileahilan interjects with disbelief, pushing away from the wall.</p><p>“You are here yet, Da’lea?” Eolas rubs his eyes, still awakening.</p><p>She shrugs, “I <em>could</em> make my way to Tevinter. I’m sure there are sympathetic Venatori Magisters that would take me on board.” She eases onto the edge of Eolas’ desk. “But if we hope to align the Imperium against the Evanuris, surely now would be the time to bolster the other side.”</p><p>Eolas nods in agreement and Solas only half-heartedly listens to their discussion, as he prowls in a circuit around the map table. “You have a plan?”</p><p>“A long game perhaps. I thought that Pavus boy seemed rather promising - a good balance of cynicism and eagerness.” Sileahilan absently fiddles with objects on Eolas’ desk as she speaks - a pen; an ornate silver casket; a small carved figure of a bear. The larger elf purses his lips, silently trailing her prodding fingers. In the wake of her disturbance, he calmly re-adjusts his belongings to his satisfaction. “I could go to Skyhold and attempt to gain his trust.”</p><p>“I’m not sure that’s the best course,” Eolas is quick to reply. “Nightingale grows increasingly paranoid about elves and has begun to probe for weaknesses in her network. I lost an agent in Crestwood and another in Kirkwall. They weren’t the best obviously, but I can’t imagine what story we could concoct that would convince her to let you into Skyhold. Let alone near one of the Inquisitor’s trusted inner circle.”</p><p>Solas’ heart pounds with terror; his innards twisting with guilt. Something had happened the night of the Skyhold celebration - the strange aura; the Anchor; the Fade seeping into Sulahnean, Cole had said. Had it finally become too much, had she broken at last and succumbed?</p><p>Sileahilan chuckles, “Ah well, about that actually-”</p><p>“Is she an abomination?” Solas hoarsely interjects.</p><p>Eolas blinks in bewilderment, “Who… Nightingale?”</p><p>“Sulahnean!” he growls in exasperation.</p><p>“Huh…” Eolas utters quietly, “I hadn’t given it much thought yet. It’s a possibility I suppose.”</p><p>Solas slumps against the map table, burying his face in his hand, “It is because of the Anchor. This is <em>my</em> doing.”</p><p>“All the more reason for me to go to Skyhold, since it appears you’ve lost your spies. Abelas intends to ask the Inquisitor to bring Enansal’han under her protection,” she informs Eolas. “To keep interlopers out. I wish to make the request on his behalf, to represent the Sentinels.”</p><p>“I see,” clarity lights his eyes and he nods in approval. “They might yet send you away.”</p><p>Sileahilan sighs, “There is little harm in trying.”</p><p>“Unless the Inquisitor is indeed an abomination - there could be a great deal of harm,” Eolas grumbles dourly.</p><p>Sileahilan chuckles lightly, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I will be fine. I’m always careful.”</p><p>“You are <em>lucky,” </em>he retorts, “Do not confuse the two.”</p><p>“Can’t I be both?” she teases and Eolas mutters quietly under his breath.</p><p>Solas frowns at them - at their easy nonchalance and callous disregard for Sulahnean’s condition. His skin burns with shame; is this not how he was, not even a year ago? So disdainful and aloof. Thinking himself above the people of this world. Does he not still believe that on some level? Making an exception only for Sulahnean and his Inquisition friends. Little by little they broke through his defences and he has done everything he can to distance himself once again. To close himself off from the painful truth that perhaps this world - the people within it - are <em>real</em>. If that is the truth, then what he plans is beyond monstrous, but what is the alternative?</p><p>“You will need Mythal’s Vallaslin,” Eolas reminds Sileahilan, his expression sombre.</p><p>Solas’ spine crawls in revulsion, shaking him from his melancholy. “No, absolutely not!” he protests, leaping to his feet.</p><p>“It is <em>my</em> choice and it is a small price to pay,” Sileahilan insists. He shakes his head, horrified by the notion. “It is only a tattoo, lethallin.”</p><p>“But what it <em>represents. </em>It is abhorrent.” Solas waves his hand with dismissive finality - he will not budge on this.</p><p>Eolas grimaces, “She would not be bound-”</p><p>“The details that you two get hung up on,” Sileahilan cuts in with mild annoyance. “Are we not still bound to Mythal, in truth? And to each other? Soul-bond or not, duty and love are more than a mark on your skin. And sometimes, free-will is <em>choosing</em> to bear one.”</p><p>Solas crosses his arms, stubbornly refusing to be swayed by her words. He had sworn long ago - never again would they be branded. Is he now to throw that vow aside for convenience, and for such selfish reasons?</p><p>“Let this be my duty,” Sileahilan pleads. “Too much is at stake and you cannot afford to be distracted by this any longer. If this is what it takes, to give you peace of mind-”</p><p>“To know you could kill her in an instant, should I waver,” he snarls.</p><p>Eolas gasps and Sileahilan rears back, as though he has struck her, “Is that what you believe?”</p><p>“No, I…” he scrubs his hand over his face, ashamed of his outburst. “Forgive me… That was beneath me.” Eolas and Sileahilan exchange a worried look and Solas breathes in deeply, attempting to reign in his fears and frustrations.</p><p>“I know this is hard,” Sileahilan remarks gently. “I understand about the Inquisitor, I do. There is a passionate intensity to them and it is remarkable what some of them can accomplish, with so little time. That vivacity can be alluring. But we are not <em>like</em> them - fleeting creatures with shallow dreams.”</p><p>“Even if she <em>could</em> understand and accept what you are, and what you plan to do,” Eolas adds, “would you truly wish to watch her slowly decay before you?”</p><p>“You think I have not asked this of myself, a thousand times over? That I am not acutely aware that I cannot reconcile my desires?” he groans plaintively. “I have not forgotten where my duty lies, but I have pursued this course with single-minded purpose, is there not…” he hesitates, afraid to confess his misgivings to them. “Is there truly no other way, no middle-ground?”</p><p>“To leave the Elvhen in Uthenera is untenable, you know we lose more with every passing century,” Sileahilan calmly counters.</p><p>Solas winces, “I know.”</p><p>"And to wake them now, into this sundered world?” Eolas adds. “We would be condemning many of them to a slow death and their descendants to oppression and enslavement.”</p><p>“Let’s not forget the spirits that continue to be bound - called against their will and contorted into a cruel mockery of themselves,” Sileahilan’s voice breaks with sorrow, turning her face from them and Solas knows she is thinking of Wisdom. Every point they make cuts right to his heart - all of these problems are of his making.</p><p>“We have no <em>choice,</em>” Eolas concludes firmly.</p><p>“I know!” he rages, slamming his fist atop the map table. The impact echoes through the study, followed by a loud crack. All at once the legs splinter and disintegrate, the heavy top crashing to the floor. “Fenedhis!” he hisses, burying his forehead in his palm. He winces sheepishly at Eolas from under his hand.</p><p>Seeing his expression, Sileahilan lets out an amused snort, which quickly morphs into a snicker. Eolas brushes his hand over his mouth, hiding his own grin. In spite of his embarrassment, an irrepressible mirth bubbles out of Solas - his own quiet chuckle triggering greater peals of laughter from Sileahilan.</p><p>“Argh…” he groans in frustration, as their merriment subsides. “Ir abelas, lethallin,” he solemnly remarks to Eolas. The Spymaster graciously waves off his apology. “As for you,” he fixes Sileahilan with a stern grimace, “go then. I will not stop you. I cannot, apparently.” He shakes his head in resignation.</p><p>She hops down from Eolas’ desk to stand before him. “I’ll fill you in, as soon as I can,” she assures him. “And I will keep her safe, I promise you. You can ease your worries.”</p><p>“Be safe yourself,” he urges. “I cannot bear another…” his throat closes over, a tear spilling down his cheek. Sileahilan crashes against him, burying her face against his chest and squeezing him with her arms.</p><p>“Daratish, ha’isamalin,” she urges, her words muffled by his body. She pulls away, not meeting his gaze as she waves goodbye to Eolas.</p><p>“Dareth shiral,” Eolas wishes in parting and Sileahilan slinks from the room. As she crosses the threshold and out of sight, Solas is beset with a familiar pang of concern. He has never expressed it to her before - not wishing to add to her burdens, or give her cause to doubt herself. Without fail however, every time he watches her leave, his worries increase tenfold.</p><p>“Whether she succeeds or not,” he remarks to Eolas, “we need our agents back on track at Skyhold.”</p><p>“That goes without saying,” Eolas replies. “I will continue to work on them.”</p><p>“Tell them this... <em>aura,</em> is a boon if you must,” Solas commands. “A blessing, from the Mark of Fen’Harel. Whatever it takes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS:<br/>Da’lea - little spark<br/>Daratish - be at peace<br/>Dareth shiral - Safe journey<br/>Elni - our friend<br/>Enansal’han - the blessed wilds<br/>Fenedhis - shit/damn it<br/>Fen’ha’el - wise, respected wolf<br/>Ha’isamalin - elder brother<br/>Ir abelas - I’m sorry<br/>Isenathaman - Dragon’s Rest<br/>Lethallin - close friend/relative</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
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        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667331">Hedge Wizard</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extra_Pickles/pseuds/KittyNomsDePlume">KittyNomsDePlume (Extra_Pickles)</a>
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